


Lord of the Manor

by fhartz91



Series: Lord of the Manor [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Amputation, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Kidnapping, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minor Violence, Near Death, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 86,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is the mysterious lord of an estate in the English countryside, rumored to have been inherited under mysterious circumstances. Announcing his intention to marry, he comes to the Hummel household, it is assumed, to claim the eldest Hummel child - Rachel - as his spouse. Once upon a time, her younger brother, Kurt, had been in love with Blaine, and he thought Blaine had feelings for him as well. Sure that those feelings have been thoroughly forgotten, and with his own intention to marry another man yet to be made known, Kurt helps to prepare his sister for the loveless match that awaits her. But what happens when Blaine arrives and tells them that they have all been mistaken?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote for the Blaine Anderson Big Bang 2014 on tumblr. It is a Harlequin Style, Austen inspired story that I have been working on for many, many years. It takes place in 1800s England, in London, and some of its surrounding territories. Harlequin Romance novels have a specific style to them, and to that end you will notice that the geography I mention is kind of vague, the language - to a degree - has been watered down so the reader does not struggle with it, and some of the romance elements are a little over the top. This is done on purpose. It is meant to be angsty. Also, it has a side story to it that is intrigue and mystery, with a few action elements (fight scenes and what not). There are a few things that might be a little squinky, let's say. Nothing extraordinarily graphic or gruesome, but I'll make sure that I warn you guys as much as possible. Otherwise, these are just elements that add to this love story, not overwhelm it. Also, this story suspends belief just a bit and assumes that being homosexual is a lifestyle openly acceptable in society. With all of that in mind, I hope that you enjoy this story :)
> 
> I dedicate this story to the amazing and talented riverance, who did artwork for this - http://fmhartz91.tumblr.com/post/102390897666/title-lord-of-the-manor-author-fmhartz91.
> 
> Warning: this prologue contains details of an injury and mention of amputation.

Blaine Anderson trudged through the ankle deep mud left behind after a day of driving rain. Each agonizing step sucked his legs further and further into the thick quagmire of earth, hay, and horse shit. It seeped through his shredded pants, tormented his wounds, and accumulated in clods that weighed him down.

By some divine intervention (though it came several hours too late), Blaine made his way to an obscure village without encountering any cutthroats along the way. No one who laid eyes on him offered the injured man any aid. They simply cleared the way for him to pass, as if he were some harbinger of doom. A light drizzle blossomed around him, but he could scarcely feel it touch his body. He kept his hazel eyes glued to the inn in front of him, using this destination as an anchor to help navigate his way through the red haze of fever scorching his skin.

The rain had begun to pummel Blaine in earnest when he reached the doorway to The Rose and Crown Inn. The sound of the falling water hitting the inn's sparsely shingled roof disappeared once he stumbled into its crowded, dimly lit dining hall. He cut quite an odd figure in his soaked through shirt and the tattered remains of his once fine pants, but no one seemed to notice. His golden eyes burned red with fever. His breathing labored, he stumbled, catching his foot on the body of a drunken sot who had his fill and passed out where he sat. Blaine stumbled again, this time on his own useless feet, and fell full face against a nearby table.

Blaine sat undignified on the bench and lifted his stiff left leg up to rest beside him with an effort that made him nearly scream with anguish. From the midst of the loud, drunken crowd, a plump barmaid ambled toward him. Her flimsy chemise peeked over the rim of a tightly laced bodice that boasted a more than ample bosom. A tray of filthy tankards balanced precariously on her fingertips, she leaned in so close that he could smell her scent – stale ale mixed with an overpowering musk, and the tang of cheap perfume. A tiny, withered nosegay stuck out from betwixt her bosom. Blaine felt sorry for the poor thing. It was definitely being prevailed upon to do too much.

"'ello, love," the barmaid said in an accent that offended Blaine's ears more than anything. "Is there somethin' I can do for you…or _to_ you?" Her innuendos were lost in the horrendous ringing of his ears. The din of endless rowdy conversations and off-key singing only added to his intense misery.

"I need…a woodsman…" Blaine demanded, barking out the words between increasingly strained breaths, his eyes squeezed tight against the pain of hearing each syllable bounce around his head before it passed between his lips.

"Wha'?" she asked. The look on her face would have been comical if Blaine had the sense to find it amusing.

"Or a butcher," Blaine said through gritted teeth. "Or anyone with an axe."

The barmaid began to shake her head, but her face went pale when she finally noticed it – the rancid smell of decaying flesh. She looked down at the leg Blaine had rested on the bench. Through the torn shreds of what used to be a finely tailored pair of pants she saw his leg…or the rest of it at least. The skin was char black and rotting on the bone like spoiled beef. A strange substance oozed from within the cracks that branched down the length of his lower thigh. Flies had even started.

"Oh my…" She uttered an oath that faded beneath her breath into the surrounding din. "Yur not needin' a woodsman, milord. Yur needin' a doctor."

"I have a doctor," Blaine snarled, his nostrils flaring at his attempt to breathe. He brought his fist down on the table, more out of a need to divert his own attention from the throbbing in his leg than out of anger. "A doctor can do nothing for me. What I need is an axe."

"Ho, friend," a surly voice boomed from behind the ale wench. "What seems to be the trubble 'ere?"

Blaine looked up into the eyes of a burly wall of a man. His scraggly ashen beard surrounded his face, leaving only a thin slit for him to speak out of. His leather coif barely contained his unruly mass of hair. His layers of wool clothing, his tunic, his pants, and his heavy leather apron were spattered liberally with blood and grease.

"Eh, Jonas," the barmaid said to her giant friend, "this gentleman 'ere is fierce ill. I think he has a fever. And look…" She motioned to his leg, fighting to hide the grimace on her face, "there. He needs a doctor right quick or he's goin' to lose his leg."

"It's already lost. What I need," Blaine said with punctuated words, "is an axe, and a man who knows how to use it."

"Please, m'lord," the man slurred, struggling with the thicket of fur on his face, "Delilah here's right. You'll be needin' a doctor. Now, there's a right good one…"

Blaine shook his head vigorously, feeling his temples drum with each sharp movement. He reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a leather satchel. His trembling fingers fumbled with the thong closure, eventually spilling the bag's contents across the wooden table. Delilah's eyes widened at the quantity of coin he carried.

"I will surrender this gold and more to any man here who can help me with my _problem."_ Blaine felt his head fall to the table, his shoulders unable to maintain its weight any longer. As he caught a whiff of the vile stench of his own leg, he felt his stomach lurch, its meager contents threatening to spill out his mouth and onto the floor. It wouldn't have made much of a mess. There was naught left in it after his journey from the riverbank where he had left his stallion to die alone in the wet rocks and sand along the shore. Blaine swallowed as he imagined the poor creature, kicking his legs fruitlessly, breathing his last, suffering due to Blaine's lack of a pistol to properly put the creature out of its misery.

Blaine would forever regret the state of that loyal animal.

Blaine heard a slight scritch-scritch noise as Jonas troubled his chin thoughtfully with his dirty index finger, pondering Blaine's proposition, captivated by the small mound of glittering coins lying right in front of him. Finally, after several excruciatingly long minutes of contemplation, Jonas leaned close to Delilah and uttered some command that Blaine could not understand. Delilah turned quickly, the tankards on her tray clattering together with a dull knocking noise. She gave one last look at the broken man and his pile of gold, then tottered off in the direction she had come.

"Aye, m'lord," Jonas said, collecting up the coins in one massive hand, dropping them one by one into the leather satchel, and handing it back over to Blaine. "I think I can help you with yur problem."

Blaine snatched the satchel, trying to maintain confidence in his feverish glare.

"See that it is done quickly."

Jonas smiled. In Blaine's present state, he was in no condition whatsoever to be quibbling with this gigantic man. On one of Blaine's best days, Jonas could still probably break him in two with nary a swing of his meaty fist. Blaine was out of his element here. It wouldn't matter one way or the other if Jonas and his buxom barmaid knew exactly who Blaine Anderson was. It might be better that they didn't. In this remote village, this was the kind of place where men of Blaine's stature disappeared without a trace, often to be found weeks later by the roadside with their purses emptied and their throats slit. Not that that particular knowledge would do him any good now. He was stuck where he sat. It was blind luck that led him to this inn and did not leave him face down in the muck outside, vulnerable to the bloodthirsty thieves and brigands that wandered the countryside at night.

Still, Blaine took a huge risk, especially in relinquishing the fact that he carried such a pregnant purse on his person, but his mind was not clear, and had not been for a while. If this Jonas was a man of his word, Blaine would thank his lucky stars, the Lord God above, and all the fallen friends and family who watched over him in his time of need. Then he would reward Jonas richly for his help.

Delilah returned briefly, pointing at two other men almost equally as large as Jonas, who were making their way through the crowd. The first man carried two tall rods bound together by a length of rawhide – a makeshift stretcher, no doubt. Blaine sighed with relief, but his heart still raced uneasily. Unable to move or barely breathe, Blaine had no choice but to entrust his life in the hands of these three men who could probably throttle him without much effort. Blaine wasn't convinced that he wasn't too far from death's door as it was.

The two men, led by Jonas, carried Blaine through the dining hall and down a long, dark passage, past the noisy patrons and the other nosy ale wenches, who craned their necks to get a glimpse of the man on the stretcher. They entered into an uncomfortably warm room that Blaine knew right away was the kitchen of this establishment. Delilah rushed in after them, her arms burdened with a load of linens stuffed into a deep, wooden basin. She immediately set about busily filling the basin with steaming water from a pot hanging above the kitchen fire, and shredding linens, all the while muttering a prayer as she worked.

The two men who carried Blaine placed him down carefully on the long table normally used for cutting up butchered meat. If not for the rawhide of the stretcher, Blaine would have found himself lying directly atop old, dried-out shreds of scrap meat and congealed, maggoty blood. Jonas went to the fire. While the hired men tore away the last bits of Blaine's trousers and tied a tourniquet over the artery of his rotting leg, Jonas heated a heavy axe blade, and then took it to the grinding stone for sharpening.

Delilah placed the basin of water down on the table with a dull _thunk_ to match the thudding noise in Blaine's skull. She procured a bottle of whisky from another curious barmaid and took a swig. Then she wiped the mouth on her apron and handed the bottle to Blaine.

"'ere you go, love," she said with soft affection. "It's our finest. I've seen five swigs of it put that ox to sleep in seconds…" She motioned with one thick thumb to the larger of the two strangers at Blaine's side. Blaine looked at the bottle skeptically, but Delilah shoved it toward him, insisting, "Drink up. You'll need it."

Blaine grabbed the bottle by the neck and brought it up to his lips. The first sip burned his throat like molten lava, but in an instant after that, he had sucked the bottle half-dry. His throat screamed. The alcohol continued to sear his throat swallow by swallow, but he forced himself to gulp down the harsh liquor.

If this was their finest, he'd hate to sample their worst.

Blaine brought the bottle down on the table, his body racked by vicious coughs.

Delilah shook her head mournfully as she fiddled with the lengths of linen. The two men laughed, struck by nerves. One of them clapped Blaine on the back hard.

"Here now," he said, his gritty voice assailing Blaine for the first time. "You want to dull yur senses, not kill yurself."

Blaine didn't even try to force a smile, but truth be told, he didn't rightly know if killing himself wasn't his intention.

The grinding of Jonas's wheel suddenly ceased, and the man approached them slowly, a large axe resting in his calloused hands. He looked like an executioner to Blaine. A cold shudder raced down Blaine's spine.

Jonas stood before him, a mixture of pity and conceit on his hardened face.

"You mighten want to hold on to somethin'," he said as he prepared to position the blade. Watching as the firelight glinted off the steel, Blaine started for the first time to reconsider his brash decision. Blaine brought the bottle back to his lips, drinking down the rest of the whiskey, along with his lingering doubts. He felt something hard and wooden press against his lips. Blaine turned his swimming head and saw Delilah prodding him with the handle of a wooden spoon. He opened his mouth to accept the utensil and gripped it hard between his teeth.

"Are you ready?" Jonas asked in a flat whisper. Blaine nodded, gripping the sides of the table beneath him until his knuckles turned white. Before he closed his drunken eyes, he saw one of the men cross himself as he and his friend backed away, not eager, Blaine assumed, to be covered in his blood. Tears gleamed in Delilah's wide, brown eyes.

Jonas's gruff voice muttered low as he heaved his axe, "One…two…three…"

No one in the inn, drinking their watered-down ale and singing their bawdy tunes ever heard the sound of the axe that came down hard enough to nearly break the oak cutting table in twain, or the tortured wail of the man who paid a fortune in gold coins, and later more, to amputate his own leg.


	2. Chapter 1

_Five years later…_

Kurt looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, sighing into the breeze that passed over him as he lay back and enjoyed his first moments of quiet in days. He felt guilty escaping like this, grabbing his sketchbook and sneaking quietly out through the servants' entrance to the kitchen. He almost ruined a brand new pair of brown leather boots, but he might have considered it an acceptable loss.

Ever since his father had divulged at dinner a few evenings past that Lord Anderson had announced his intention to find a spouse, the entirety of the Hummel household had been in an uproar.

Being the eldest, it would be his sister Rachel bound to the marriage, since she was beyond marrying age and had no prospects – none that his father would find acceptable, that is. It was no secret that Rachel had been in love with a local merchant - Finn Hudson - for ages, but being less than a gentleman in status, with no inheritance, and no land or property to call his own, their father would never approve of the marriage.

Burt Hummel was a gentleman, and he expected his daughter and son to marry well - above their stations if he could manage it.

Marrying Rachel off to an earl would definitely fulfill that requirement.

Their mother, Elizabeth, would have strongly disagreed. She would have talked their father out of this folly and encouraged her children to marry where they loved, not for money.

Money is common, she always said, but love – true love - is rare and precious.

Elizabeth had been such an idealist when it came to love, but their mother had passed away long ago, and when his father's health began to decline, Burt Hummel seemed to look out for any opportunity to find a favorable match for his children.

Favorable meaning lucrative, which was part of where Kurt's guilt stemmed. In his sister's misery, Kurt saw for himself a glimmer of hope. Rachel marrying a wealthy lord left Kurt open to marry soon after, and he had already chosen a suitor – one that he had extreme affection for. One Kurt was more than sure that he could grow to sincerely and truly love.

Because Rachel would be unable to marry her poor merchant, Kurt would be free to marry _his_ own poor baker – Adam Crawford.

Adam had no land, no titles, no property. He held a minor inheritance, and labored as an apprentice to a baker in town. Adam plied his trade because he loved it, and Kurt admired that about him. Kurt was certain he could find happiness with a man so engaged by his passions.

Still, to all this marriage nonsense, Kurt had to admit he suffered a sliver of jealousy.

The youngest Lord Anderson – _Blaine_ Anderson – was the object of Kurt's first real crush – a crush that plagued a corner of his heart to that very day. Once upon a time, Burt Hummel tended to matters on the Great Earl Gustave Anderson's family estate in the country. For a while, the Hummel children spent as much time there as they did in their own manor house outside London. It was a marvelous time of freedom and joy, and Kurt and Blaine were the best of friends. They played and ran amuck all over the Anderson Estate. They climbed trees, swam in the Earl's well-stocked lake, and found all sorts of mischief to get into. Blaine gave Kurt his first real sketchbook when he discovered Kurt's love of drawing, and Kurt learned to ride a horse on Anderson land. Till the age of fifteen thereabouts, Blaine Anderson knew as much about Kurt Hummel as did Kurt's own sister – and Kurt was certain Blaine had an eye for him.

But if Blaine _did_ have feelings for Kurt, he would have never been allowed to act on them. Much was expected of the young lords with regard to marriage, and Kurt simply did not fit that bill.

Not long after the summer of Kurt's fifteenth year, tragedy befell the Anderson clan. Blaine's mother passed on, and then did his father. Then suddenly, Blaine's older brother Cooper died rather mysteriously, and rumor had it that Blaine himself had suffered some horrible misfortune. After that, Blaine became a notorious recluse. He didn't travel in the expected social circles, he didn't dine out, he didn't participate in sport of any kind. He kept to himself, in his manor in the countryside. He probably would not have consented to marry at all if not for the responsibilities of his title, (something Kurt had overheard his father mention in confidence to a close family friend) which made this arrangement between Lord Anderson and Rachel that much more heartbreaking.

Blaine did not even care for her.

"But _why_?" Kurt had questioned his father while his sister bawled shamefully in her bedroom, inconsolable and uncaring of who might take notice. "Why does he want Rachel? I'm sure he can have his pick of partners."

"Because he doesn't want to be bothered with the troublesome procedures of finding an appropriate spouse…and I owe him a debt," his father said simply, "and now that debt is being repaid. Ask me no more about it, and do not tell your sister."

Kurt sighed. He hated keeping secrets from Rachel, especially this one, which seemed to him to be information that she should know about her future husband.

She was being married to pay off a debt.

Kurt was revolted, but also relieved. He was unsure how he would handle such a mantle being placed on his own shoulders.

He thought about his Mr. Crawford and smiled. At least one of Elizabeth Hummel's children would be able to uphold her lofty legacy and marry for love.

"Master Kurt! Master Kurt!" He heard his name shouted from the bottom of the hill, and he groaned. He knew that he couldn't escape the drama of life for very long, especially when the nerves of his sister were involved.

In a house full of servants, only two people in the world could ever calm Rachel in the throes of despair – one of those people had been their mother, and now, Kurt.

"Yes, Marley," Kurt called, waving an arm to his maid, who bounded up the hill of green where he sat. She saw him and smiled, wide and joyous and with a great many teeth on display. Marley's smiles, effervescent to a fault, were never to be trusted. She smiled the same way if she was happy to see you or if she was about to tell you that your favorite dog had just had its throat cut out. She was nigh on insufferably happy all the time, but Kurt couldn't help but be fond of the girl.

She lifted her skirts to an unseemly height, exposing her ankles as she ran toward him.

"Master Kurt!" She stopped in front of him, greeting him with a clumsy curtsey. "I am sorry to disturb you, but…" Marley caught sight of the sketch Kurt had been working on and paused. "That is a remarkable design for a suit, Master Kurt," Marley gushed. "And is that young Mr. Crawford you've drawn it on?"

"Maybe…" Kurt answered coyly, unable to help the blush that rose to his cheeks.

"Well," she said with a knowing smile, "it is an incredible likeness, if I do say so meself. You are quite the talent."

"Marley," Kurt said, looking into the girl's adoring brown eyes, "was there some reason you needed to come find me?"

Marley looked at Kurt with a blank expression, and then – remembering her purpose in seeking him out - shook her head, her long brown hair escaping her white linen cap and swaying from side to side around her cheeks.

"Oh, yes. You must come quickly and tend to your sister, sir," Marley said. "She refuses to get dressed, and his lordship will be here in no time at all."

"Oh, for heaven's sake..." Kurt rose to his feet and brushed the grass from his pants. He bent to grab up his sketchbook and sighed. "Let us away then," he said, gesturing for her to lead so that he may follow. He walked down the hillside to their manor, not hurrying along, much to Marley's dismay. Kurt couldn't force himself to move any faster. He didn't want to be witness to the destruction of his sister's happiness.

* * *

Kurt heard his sister's wails long before they even reached the door.

"But, I don't want to marry him!" Rachel cried. Kurt walked into her room to see his beloved sister draped across her settee, dressed only in her chemise, her corset barely laced and hanging open at her back. She rested her forehead against her crossed arms, her chest heaving with thick, heavy sobs. "I didn't even think he liked women. Wasn't he always a right flirt to you, Kurt?"

All eyes of the maids and servants present turned to look at him, and Kurt swallowed hard. It hurt him more than he liked to confess to hear someone else admit it out loud, but he wasn't about to let it affect him so, not when his sister needed him.

Kurt had moved on from childish infatuations like the one he had harbored for Blaine Anderson.

Kurt's future was with his baker, and he was glad of it.

"You know men like him, dearest - men with money and privilege. They dip their wick in anything they can get their hands on. It gets the poison out – keeps them sane. He's probably marrying so that he can get an heir for all that money of his. He'll probably take a lover and leave you relatively be."

The comment was meant to soothe his sister's frayed nerves, but it sounded snide nonetheless.

"So you wish for me a loveless match?" Rachel blustered, turning wide, red-rimmed eyes Kurt's way. "What kind of horrid creature are you? That's it! From this day forward, you are no longer my brother!"

She buried her head back in her arms and cried all the harder. Kitty, Rachel's maid, snickered behind her hand. Marley turned to her and hissed, and Kitty went back to searching the wardrobe, hiding her face behind her long golden hair.

"Shh, dearest," Kurt cooed, sitting beside his sister and putting a comforting hand to her back, "All I am saying is that you might consider finding your own…shall we say…amusements…if he's going to be allowed to have his."

When Rachel turned her face back to his, she looked even more horrified than before.

"Oh, what do you know?" Rachel whined, shaking her head of Kurt's scandalous suggestions. "And besides, Finn is the only man I want, and he's too noble to even consider such an arrangement."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

In Kurt's limited experience with men, he didn't know a one who was too noble to turn down unattached sex – and that included the overly-lauded Mr. Finn Hudson.

* * *

Blaine felt caged in his carriage as it ambled its way along the cobblestone path lined by hedges that led to the Hummel's modest estate. The house seemed older, smaller than he remembered it, much quieter now that the joys of his youth had come to an end. Still, in the distance, on the wind as it blew even on such a still day, he could hear the echo of a young boy's laugh, followed by his own.

Blaine didn't want to be here, his displeasure evident as he gripped the handle of his cane and sighed in frustration. _'What in the devil am I doing?'_ he thought bitterly to himself. _'This is a mistake. From its inception, a terrible mistake.'_

Blaine looked out the carriage window again as the main house appeared fully in view. There was a feeling of comfort here, memories of good times, happier times, times when the only duty required by him was to excel in school and go to University, the probability of their father's title falling on him nearly non-existent. That long ago joy was a feeling he couldn't afford at present. If he did indulge in the memories of his youth, if he delved into thoughts of carefree times and the boy who made those times possible, he knew he would lose himself here.

The carriage came to a stop and Blaine fortified himself against the onslaught to come.

* * *

"Look!" Kitty chirped with excitement, heedless of her mistress's distress. "He's arrived!"

Marley rushed to the window in spite of herself, staring down at the visitor just pulled up to the house.

"Good Lord!" she exclaimed. "Look at that carriage!"

Kurt knew he should stay stalwartly by his sister's side, but he was compelled to leave her and join the young maids at the window, to get one glimpse of the boy from his past who had come to wed his sister.

Kurt had so many memories of Blaine – devilishly handsome Blaine, with his eyes of honey-gold and hair that gleamed on all occasions like polished ebony. It was no secret that almost every boy and girl from Cornwall to Northumberland was in love with Blaine Anderson, but Kurt always thought himself special in that regard, since he was convinced that Blaine could possibly love him back.

It wouldn't be the first time Kurt was wrong, and he dared say it probably wouldn't be the last.

The look of the young man stepping down from the carriage stopped Kurt's heart in his chest. The beautiful face that Kurt once remembered as Blaine Anderson housed hard hazel eyes glowering with an expression Kurt didn't even recognize as his. Kurt watched the stern faced gentleman carefully. Maybe there had been some mistake.

Could there be in the whole of England _another_ Blaine Anderson?

If Blaine felt the eyes from the window above watching him, he didn't look up to meet them.

"Does he look how you remember him, Master Kurt?" Marley asked, her eyes glued to the man in the fine coat shifting from leg to leg to loosen his tight joints - a symptom of the long drive.

"Yes, but the walking stick," Kurt remarked, "his stiff pose. Those he did not possess when I knew him. I hope he has not come down with some form of infirmity."

"I heard tis not an infirmity he suffers, sir, but a loss," Kitty answered.

Kurt huffed incredulously. Kitty always had something to say about everyone, and more often than not it got on Kurt's last nerve.

"You've been talking to those gossips again when I expressly forbade you to," Kurt scolded. "What aught have those loose-tongued ninnies told you?"

"Oh, I have heard quite an interesting tale about Lord Anderson," Kitty said, pleased to be the center of attention.

"Oh, speak plainly, Kitty," Kurt snapped, not wishing to remove his gaze from the stately young gentleman in order to address his sister's maid.

"His leg, Master Kurt," Kitty said. "He's lost his leg."

Kurt stared at Blaine as he walked slowly toward the house, trying to ascertain any oddity in his gait.

"You cannot be serious," Kurt hissed.

"Gravely so, sir," Kitty whispered. "It seems, as I hear tell it, he was badly injured. The leg went sour, and later on, he paid a butcher to cut it off."

"Oh, Kitty," Kurt scoffed, "now I know you are truly daft. What kind of man..."

Kurt watched Blaine turn to speak to his father, walking toward the house to join him. Blaine's pained limp almost confirmed Kitty's tale.

Kurt's mouth dropped. He couldn't imagine Blaine being in such agony. He was obviously injured, but to lose a limb? To pay a man to cut it off? Those must be stories indeed. He probably broke the leg in a riding accident and it hadn't healed up correctly.

Kurt wouldn't know the truth until his sister confirmed the story for him.

Marley looked between Kurt's despondent face and Rachel lying undressed on the settee, trying to disappear into the upholstery.

"Oh, Kitty," Marley chided, "can't you be of better comfort to your mistress by doing something other than gossiping?"

Kitty turned and stuck her tongue out at Marley, but Marley shut her down with a piercing stare.

"Uh, yes," Kitty said, backing away from the window. "I am quite sorry, mistress." Kitty knelt down to try and catch Rachel's eyes. "We have to make you beautiful and blushing, mistress, and your face is redder than a radish."

Marley left her master's side by the window when she heard Kitty's pathetic excuse at persuasion.

"Miss Rachel?" Marley begged. "Please, pick out a gown. Your father wanted you ready before his lordship arrived, and now we are running behind."

"I don't care," Rachel blubbered. "Throw me into anything you want. Find me a potato sack and stuff me in it. Then…then tie the top and toss it in the river till I drown. I won't marry him!"

"Oh, I'll do it," Kurt said, climbing away from the window when his father led Blaine completely inside. "And do quiet down, Rachel. The whole house will hear and you'll humiliate father."

"I don't care," she continued to mutter. "I don't care who hears. Let them all know that my life is over."

Kurt threw open the wardrobe and looked at the array of dresses hanging.

"Which one were you thinking, Master Kurt?" Marley asked, shuddering when Rachel let out a particularly unladylike moan. "The lilac satin? The persimmon silk?"

"I think…" Kurt stepped away from the wardrobe, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room. Rachel lifted her head out of curiosity, and the three women watched him in silence, with quizzical looks on their faces. When he returned, he was carrying a dress of dazzling magnificence, glimmering in hues of soft pink and gold, hand beaded down the front in a way that was elegant and not gaudy.

Marley gasped. Kitty's jaw dropped. Rachel rose from her seat and walked toward her brother, possessed.

"Where in the world…"

"I made it," Kurt said proudly. "I had hoped it would be a birthday present, before…well, before all of this." Rachel ran a delicate hand down the length of the skirt, her fingers outlining the swirling design of flowers formed by beads and embroidered thread. "The fabric belonged to mother, as did the beads," Kurt said. "Who knows? Maybe it will bring you luck."

"Oh, Kurt," Rachel cried, throwing her hands up to cover her trembling lips. "It's gorgeous. I…I don't know what to say."

Kurt handed the dress over to Marley and wrapped his arms around his sister, holding her for the first time since the start of this tragic debacle.

"I only wish this dress could bring you what you want," Kurt said into his sister's loose curls. "I wish it could bring you happiness."

"Oh, Kurt," she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks and staining her brother's shirt, though for once, he did not mind, "I don't think that I shall ever be happy again."


	3. Chapter 2

Kurt stepped out of Rachel's room, giving his sister a moment alone to dress, and instructing his maid to put on the finest dress that she herself owned, as she would be accompanying him to dinner that night. Maybe it was a bit unprecedented, even unacceptable in other households, but the Hummels rarely stood on any sort of formal ceremony, and concessions were often made for Kurt's and Rachel's personal maids – especially now, when Kurt would need the strength of a good friend by his side.

Kurt walked down the back staircase, avoiding the gathering guests, all of whom would stop him to shake his hand and congratulate him on his family's good fortune, to ask after him, to comment on how he'd grown since they last saw him, and when he would make himself such a match as his sister had. He had nothing to say to any of these well-wishers. He felt no need to be congratulated, and he'd much rather be alone besides.

He stepped out into the cool night air, walking a distance from where the carriages were being parked, and where footmen and drivers were ushered to the back kitchen door to smuggle plates of hot food.

"Kurt!" a voice uttered from the darkness. Kurt smiled before he turned around, knowing the identity of the voice's owner by heart.

"Adam!" Kurt called quietly in the direction of his voice. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"I've come here to bring your father a cake that he ordered, Mr. Hummel," Adam said, making a small bow and holding aloft a square box tied closed with twine.

"But, I don't understand," Kurt said, looking at the box with a wide smile on his face, "all of the cakes and pastries have already been delivered, Mr. Crawford."

"I think that if you were to check, sir, you would find that one cake was missing from that order," Adam said, tapping his finger on the side of the box.

"But, how can that be, when you are so diligent with your duties?" Kurt teased.

"Probably because this one had been put in a corner and intentionally hidden so that I would have a proper excuse for stopping by tonight." Adam ducked his head, smiling shyly at his brilliant plan while Kurt laughed at the adorable man blushing before him. "Otherwise, there would be no other way I could see you this evening."

Kurt bit his lip as he watched Adam scuff the toe of his worn leather shoe against the stone walk. Kurt had a plan, something he'd been devising the moment the shadow of Lord Anderson had descended upon his house. It was a plan that would insure his future happiness - he was certain of it - if only he could get Adam to agree.

"I know of a way that we can see each other again tonight," Kurt said. He turned and saw a bevy of faces staring at them - footmen and drivers with plates in hand, shoveling food into their mouths, watching Kurt and Adam as if they were performing scenes from a play.

"Walk with me, Mr. Crawford?" Kurt asked, taking Adam by the arm and pulling him away.

"Of course, Mr. Hummel," Adam replied, in no real position to turn the man down.

When they were out of earshot of the mass of eating men, Kurt leaned in close to Adam's ear.

"Tonight, my father is going to announce the engagement of my sister Rachel to Lord Anderson."

"Yes, I know," Adam said, his voice touched with sincere sympathy for the eldest Hummel sibling. "I have seen Mr. Hudson in town just today. He is quite beside himself with grief."

Kurt deflated. It was enough to have to deal with the pain of his sister, but to be privy to Finn's pain as well – it was almost too unbearable.

"Well, I was thinking," Kurt continued, trying to put Finn and Rachel from his head, "after my sister is engaged, I will be free to marry…"

Adam came to halt. He turned to face Kurt, nearly crushing the forgotten cake against his chest.

"Would…would you…"

"You know I would," Kurt said, smiling at Adam's stunned expression.

"I don't have anything to offer you, Kurt," Adam said, the joy fading from his face. "I can't give you a life like this."

"Adam, have I ever reproached you for your lack of fortune?" Kurt asked. "That doesn't matter to me. It never has. Not at all."

Adam's smile was slow to return.

"Your father will never agree to the marriage."

"He doesn't need to," Kurt whispered, trying to bring the joy back to Adam's face, wanting Adam to be as excited about this as he was. "We'll…we'll elope."

"But, won't your father be angry?" Adam asked.

"He won't care now that he has the marriage that he wants," Kurt said, though it was only a half-truth. _Eventually_ , his father might come around. Having Rachel married off to an earl would, at the very least, cushion some of the blow.

There was still the chance that Kurt's father would never forgive him, never accept them, never want to see him again.

But he couldn't have his life lived for him. He didn't know about his father's other debts. Whom might Kurt get sold off to in the long run?

He didn't want to wait and find out.

"So…" Kurt rolled on the balls of his feet, waiting for an answer, "what say you?"

Adam smiled, preparing to give Kurt his answer.

"Am I...interrupting something?" a severe voice – a voice not accustomed to being questioned – asked of the two hidden lovers.

Kurt's eyes snapped up, staring straight into dark, golden eyes – eyes that looked less familiar than he had imagined, but which still had the power to make him weak at the knees.

"Good evening, my lord," Kurt said, bowing quickly. Adam, with eyes downcast, did the same.

"Good evening, Master Kurt," Blaine said, looking him over with a detachment befitting his station. "And who is this young gentleman? Will he be joining us for dinner?"

"This is…"

"My name is Adam Crawford, milord," Adam offered up his name with another bow.

"And, no, my lord," Kurt said, feeling a strange need to hide Adam from Blaine's cruel stare, "he will not be joining us this evening."

Blaine looked from Kurt, to Adam, then back to Kurt again - his eyes growing darker with each pass.

"Pity," Blaine said, nodding perfunctorily. He hobbled past them and back into the house.

Kurt watched Blaine leave, subconsciously raising a hand to his throat.

"Dear Lord, does it feel colder out here?" Adam said with a shiver.

Kurt smiled at Adam's jest, but he didn't find it quite as funny as Adam intended.

"Are you going to give me an answer or not?" Kurt asked, throwing anxious looks back at the house, expecting his father to come collect him any minute.

Adam looked at Kurt's worried eyes and chuckled.

"Yes," he said. "Of course, yes, I'll go with you."

Adam rushed forward to kiss Kurt, their bodies colliding with the cake box between them, keeping them out of the other's reach.

"Ops!" Kurt laughed, taking the box out of Adam's hands. "Let's try that again."

"Kurt!" his father's voice beckoned from the door. "Kurt Hummel, come inside this instant!"

"I've…got to go," Kurt said, looking from Adam's expectant face up to the door where his father stood staring down at him. Burt Hummel's eyes took in the sight of Adam and glared at him disapprovingly. He had suspicions that his son had unspoken intentions toward this boy, and Burt would not have it.

Kurt took the cake box from Adam's hands and sped up the stairs into his father's house. Burt blocked the doorway once his son was inside, shutting the door behind him without another glance at the baker darkening his step.

"What did the Crawford boy want?" Kurt's father asked gruffly.

"He came to deliver this," Kurt said, handing the box over to a servant who came to collect it.

"And is that _all_ he wanted?" Burt was livid at the thought of his son undermining him, seeing this penniless baker behind his back.

"Yes, Father," Kurt answered, looking at his father with eyes that he hoped did not betray his dishonesty. "He just came by to deliver a cake that went astray from the original order this afternoon. That's all."

Burt stared his son down. His wife, Elizabeth, always had a talent of knowing when the children were lying, but Burt did not possess the same skill. He had to rely on his hard nature to compel the untruths out of his children.

He didn't like to be heavy handed with them, but they were both so willful, and he wanted what was best for them; he wanted to see them both properly settled.

He feared that he didn't have much time left.

"Alright," Burt said, switching from a scowl to a smile. This wasn't the time for petty arguments. This was a night of unique felicity. They should relish in it without contempt. "Go get yourself washed up, my son. I want you to make the rounds with the guests. Many have already asked about you."

"Yes, Father," Kurt said, kissing his father on the cheek and heading off to his room to freshen up.

* * *

Kurt washed his face, set his hair, and changed his waistcoat, then joined the party with Marley in tow. He was too overwhelmed with seeing Blaine again, and his plans for escape with Adam later on, to bother with the other guests.

Kurt grabbed a tray full of drinks from the table and set it in Marley's hands.

"Now, circulate, serve these drinks, and keep an ear out for gossip, as much as you can," Kurt said excitedly, "and when your tray is empty, find me and tell me everything you know."

"Yes, sir," Marley said, taking up the tray of glasses and setting out into the room.

Kurt retreated to a distant corner where he could observe the goings on undisturbed. Blaine stood straight and tall, barely moving, almost a mirror of the stone statues Kurt's father kept. He wore a finer suit than Kurt had ever seen him in. Of course, when he had known Lord Anderson, he was simply Blaine – a hard-headed boy with a rapier wit and mischief hiding behind his debonair smile. But Kurt's desires for the raven-haired boy were just foolish fantasies, and they had gone long ago.

So, why were they suddenly all he could think about?

In one gloved hand, Blaine held a knob-handled cane, which he seemed to depend upon. Walking sticks were definitely en vogue for the well-dressed set, but Blaine looked as though he needed his. Still, there was nothing that would convince Kurt that the leg in question was actually gone.

There was a break in the music as Rachel lighted down the spiral staircase into the ballroom, her head held high in a manner befitting a lady. Rachel didn't look at all nervous, and Kurt admired how well she could play her part, but Kurt could tell from the way she held her hands clasped in front of her that her stomach was bound in knots. She greeted her father and was introduced to the young earl, who seemed more interested in his tumbler of bourbon than his future bride.

Kurt's heart bled for her.

Kurt's eyes found Marley, bouncing from person to person with her tray of drinks, delivering a full glass, picking up an empty one, stopping to overhear a drop of conversation on the way. By the time she returned to Kurt, her tray was empty and her bright brown eyes shining.

"Okay," Kurt said, pulling her further into the corner. "Tell."

"I don't know that I've uncovered much more than you already know, sir," Marley apologized.

"Marley!" Kurt groaned.

"Okay, okay!" Marley started. "Well, I've heard that he received a knighthood."

"Oh my," Kurt said, staring back at Blaine, imagining him being knighted. What a regal figure he must have struck. "Is the title a courtesy or…"

"No, quite the opposite," Marley said. "It was well-earned."

"Really?" Kurt asked. "What else?"

"That he spends all of his time locked away in his house in the country, trying to find his brother's killer," Marley said, whispering low to shield her voice from any eavesdroppers nearby. "And that's part of how he lost his leg."

Kurt gasped. _Kitty was right, unless everyone in the house was daft._

"And there's something else," Marley said, blushing to her brown roots.

"What is it?" Kurt asked. He turned to face his maid when she didn't speak up right away and saw a crimson flush take over her face. "Oh, just spit it out, girl!"

"Just that…uh…he is exceptionally well-versed in the ways of…uh… _physical_ affection…sir…"

Kurt's heart sank in his chest with a final thud for his sister. He had not expected Blaine to sit solemnly in the ice house, awaiting his betrothal. Men were expected to sow their oats, as it were – an ideology Kurt didn't particularly subscribe to in his own life - but _exceptionally_ _well-versed_ had an almost frightening ring to it.

Kurt watched his sister sigh deeply as she continued to be blatantly ignored.

"It's not fair," Kurt said. "You would think he might at least talk to her. Compliment her. Offer to walk the room with her and get to know her better. She is beautiful, is she not?"

"She is indeed, sir," Marley agreed, "but if you don't mind me saying so, the way he's been looking over here with those dark, brooding eyes, one would think that _you_ were the one he was about to propose marriage to."

Kurt looked over to Blaine who had his eyes fixed on Kurt's face, staring at him unabashedly, not having the sense of modesty to look away now that he had been caught. Kurt felt his cheeks color at being the target of that stare, as if Blaine were able to see through his clothes, into his body, sussing out all his treasured secrets.

Before he turned his attention back to the conversation at hand, his lips curled into the most inappropriate of smiles.

Kurt's entire body went cold.


	4. Chapter 3

Kurt looked down the length of the table, marveling at the general splendor of those seated. It had been so long since Kurt's father had hosted a formal gathering such as this. The crème de la crème of the county sat around him, each holding their breath, awaiting a word from Lord Anderson. They weren't small town folk, not in the slightest, but the earl was a rare sight. No one had seen head or tail of him since his title had been bestowed, yet here he was, preparing to take a bride.

Lord Anderson sat at the head of the table, with Kurt's father to one side, and Rachel to the other. Kurt sat a few chairs down with Marley standing behind him. Kurt could barely keep his seat, fidgeting with his silverware, his leg bouncing beneath the table, his thoughts on later tonight when he would pack his bag and run off to be married himself. He would try to make it back for Rachel's wedding, of course, once everything had settled.

He was relying on Blaine opting for a fashionably long engagement.

"How do you find the pheasant this evening, Lord Anderson?" Rachel asked, attempting to spark a conversation. "Is it to your liking?"

Blaine chewed his food thoughtfully, wiping his mouth with his napkin, and then set it aside, taking all the time in the world to answer.

"It was…adequate," he said at last.

Kurt bit his tongue quickly to keep from commenting.

The sauce used to dress the bird was his mother's own recipe. And the pheasant itself was one of the best off his father's estate. How dare Lord Anderson call it _adequate_?

Who did _Lord Anderson_ think he was that he could come into Kurt's house, ignore his sister, and insult his mother's cooking?

This wasn't the Blaine that Kurt remembered. This man wasn't him at all.

Blaine gazed down at his plate, contemplating his boiled potatoes during the atypical silence hovering in the room. He didn't have time to perform for these people when there were urgent, pressing matters at hand.

He pushed back his chair and stood to make his announcement, choosing to address his plate instead of the faces at the table.

"I am here tonight, as you may all well know, because I have made my intentions to marry known."

The already oppressive silence became more so when forks and knives stopped mid-air. Rachel, to her benefit, sat up straight with her hands daintily folded in her lap, her eyes patient but sad.

"Mr. Hummel," Blaine said, "will you show me to your office so that we may get these marriage arrangements underway?"

"Of course," Burt said, tossing down his napkin on his plate and standing from his seat. "Come along, Rachel," he said motioning to his daughter.

"I will require the audience of Master Hummel as well," Blaine said suddenly.

All eyes turned down the table to stare at Kurt, who looked up at Blaine with a quizzical expression, but the earl had removed himself from the table and started out of the dining hall.

Kurt could hear guests muttering as he stood to follow.

"Well, that was rather odd, wasn't it?" one voice commented.

"Very odd," another replied.

"Why in the world would the son need to be present in the matter of the daughter's marriage?" another pondered.

"I'm wondering that myself," Kurt said under his breath to Marley as they walked quickly from the table.

"Worry not, Master Kurt," Marley said, keeping close at his heels. "They probably need another witness to the signing of the contract, that's all."

"You are right," Kurt said, hurrying quickly away from the querying looks of their guests. "I have nothing to fear from Lord Blaine Anderson."

Kurt arrived at his father's office behind the rest of the party and knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," a voice called out – Lord Anderson's voice.

Kurt was appalled. What an impertinence to take up command in another man's house!

Kurt held his tongue, though, as he opened the door and walked inside. His father sat at his desk (thank goodness that Lord Anderson had at least left his father _that_ dignity) and Rachel sat on the chair just in front of it. Lord Anderson stood somewhat between the two, waiting for Kurt before he officially started his meeting.

"Sit," Blaine said, motioning to the remaining empty chair.

For some reason, Kurt felt like he shouldn't take that seat. He felt very much like he should stand in the doorway in case he needed to run.

"Sorry to keep you, my lord," Kurt said, trying not to show his trepidation at being a part of this marriage contract, in whatever capacity Lord Anderson had found for him.

"Master Kurt," Blaine said, taking a step toward him, "why do you look at me so?"

"How am I looking at you, my lord?" Kurt asked, uncomfortable with the question, since Kurt had looked at Blaine a great many ways since he'd arrived, not all of them favorable.

"With derision," Blaine answered. "I am curious what it is I have done to offend you? I cannot tell if the looks you have been giving me all evening are bred from indifference or disgust."

"You have not offended me, my lord," Kurt said, holding himself straight and tall, and daring not to frown. "I assure you, that is the farthest thing from the truth."

"Good," Blaine responded with what could have been an honest smile if not for the hint of calculated satisfaction hiding in the corners, "because we were friends once, if I recall."

"Good friends," Kurt agreed quietly. Kurt felt the need to hide his opinion loosen as Blaine's smug grin began to spread across his face. How did such a sweet, charming, unassuming young man turn into the egotist Kurt saw standing in front of him? "Yes, my lord," he continued carefully, "we were once very good friends, which is why I must inquire…"

"Kurt…" his father cut in, putting his hands flat on his desk and preparing to stand.

"…with no disrespect at all intended…"

"Kurt…" his father warned him again, but Blaine put a hand up to silence him, looking thoroughly amused by Kurt's cautious speech.

"Why you are marrying my sister?"

Blaine's smile slipped quickly from his face, his expression blank where before it had been thoroughly self-satisfied.

"My father says it is to repay a debt," Kurt explained further when Blaine didn't interrupt, "but I don't quite understand how you can join your life to a person you have no affection for…"

"Kurt…"

This time the warning came from Rachel, who looked suddenly frightened for her brother, stepping as he was into dangerous territory.

"…evident in the fact that you have barely looked upon her…barely spoken to her…"

Kurt looked at the faces around him, staring with various expressions ranging from surprise and indignation to fear.

"Have you even complimented her once this evening, my lord?" Kurt asked, Blaine's silence beginning to fuel his anger. "Have you spoken to her at all, for that matter? Can you truly prevail upon her to be satisfied in the bonds of a loveless marriage?"

"Kurt! Hold your tongue!" his father barked. "You've spoken more than your fair share!"

"No, it's quite alright," Blaine said, addressing Kurt with a vicious smile. "I would like to know all that my future husband thinks of me."

All eyes rose to meet Blaine's, but Kurt's glare seemed to excite Blaine the most.

Kurt felt his body go numb. It wasn't an instant phenomenon. It started at his feet, freezing him in place. It hit his knees, almost bringing him to the floor. Then his stomach, tying all his muscles into knots. It crept up his chest, nearly stopping his heart, and then his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. By the time it reached his head, he was unable to speak, unable to think. He blinked dumbly until he could come up with a response.

"I…I don't…" Kurt shook his head slowly. This was a dream; it had to be. He was still on his hilltop, asleep, worried about the fate of his dear sister, trying to come up with any way to rescue her, and this was his worried mind's only answer. "Forgive me, my lord, but I don't understand…"

"That makes the two of us, Lord Anderson," Burt added, green eyes wary, fixed on the young earl, demanding an explanation.

"You make many assumptions with regard to where I plan to marry," Blaine said, finding a carafe of bourbon on a nearby table and filling a glass. "Your daughter is of no interest to me. I came here to declare my intentions toward your son, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt looked at Rachel, hating the look of relief in her eyes.

"But…to have a younger child married off before the eldest, my lord?" Burt asked. "I'm not sure that I approve. It's not done that way. What would people think?"

Kurt grimaced and Blaine smirked. Of course, his father wouldn't value the feelings of his children above those of strangers they will never meet and never know.

"So concerned with appearances," Blaine said, mirroring Kurt's disapproval at the source of Burt's objection. "I had a feeling that point might bring contention. Here's what I propose. Your daughter Rachel _shall_ be married first."

Rachel turned and looked at Kurt with owlish eyes.

"How do you mean, my lord?" Burt asked.

"It has been brought to my attention that the son of an acquaintance, a Mr. Finn Hudson, has a rather healthy infatuation with your daughter, and that the feeling might be mutual. Am I mistaken?"

All eyes turned on Rachel, and Rachel shrank visibly.

"You are not mistaken, my lord," Rachel barely answered.

"It so happens that I owe a debt to Bill Hudson's widow – a debt that I have been looking to pay back appropriately for some time. Therefore, I will pay your daughter's dowry, as well as give Finn Hudson a living wage so that he and your daughter may be wed. I will make him caretaker of one of my estates closer to London so that she will not be too far from you. Then, I will marry your son and therein excuse your debt. How does that sound?"

Both Kurt and Rachel looked at their father with pleading eyes – Rachel begging their father to say yes, and Kurt imploring his father to say no. Burt had been backed into a corner. No sane man would refuse such an arrangement. Burt couldn't look at them, knowing that from this day forward he may end up permanently estranged from one of his children.

"That arrangement sounds…agreeable, Lord Anderson," Burt said heavily, sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes, waiting for the objections to start.

"Don't I get a say in any of this, Father?" Kurt asked snappishly.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, still tending to his drink. "I didn't think you would have an objection. Oh, is there an understanding, Master Kurt, between you and that gentleman I saw you with outside earlier?"

"Which gentleman?" Burt asked, opening his eyes and glaring at his son. He didn't like to be lied to, and he didn't like the idea that his son had machinations that he did not know about.

Kurt shook his head, imperceptibly so that only Blaine could see, but Blaine smiled like anything, and put on as if he hadn't seen.

"The blond gentleman?" Blaine supplied helpfully, well aware of the situation he was putting Kurt in. "I believe you said his name was Adam?"

"The baker!" Burt said, looking at Kurt directly as he spoke. "No, there is no understanding between my son and the _baker_."

Kurt's jaw dropped open. Rachel reached out a hand to cover Kurt's in a silent show of comfort, seeming to understand for the first time that winning her happiness had deprived her brother of his, but she dared not speak. This opportunity might never come again if she spoke against it.

She prayed that someday Kurt would forgive her.

"I apologize, Lord Anderson, for my son's rudeness," Burt said with another hard glare towards Kurt. "Please believe me when I tell you how very grateful we _all_ are for your generosity."

"Tis no bother," Blaine replied, throwing back his drink in one gulp. "All is forgiven, but I must insist that we stage this wedding at once. Tomorrow, if possible."

Kurt's eyes went wide with shock.

"T-t-tomorrow?" Kurt stuttered, his voice cracking.

"Yes," Blaine said. "I have no more time to waste on this affair…"

"But, my lord," Kurt beseeched, but Blaine continued on as if he had not heard him.

"…as we must away to my estate immediately after."

"Of course," Kurt's father said with a nod. Kurt's entire world shifted beneath his feet. Here his life was being planned in front of him, and he didn't get a single word to say about it.

"No, father!" Kurt cried, but Burt had had enough. His eyes fell to his desk as he ignored his son's pleas. Kurt turned then to the hardened man staring at them both. "Lord Anderson!" Kurt rushed toward him in a panic, but Blaine's steely gaze stayed his feet. "Why must we away to the country? Can we not stay in the city?" Kurt asked, clasping his hands together, digging his nails into his palm to keep his composure,

"Certainly not," Blaine said coldly. "My matters at present require that I return post haste to my house in the country."

"But, what about _my_ matters, my lord!?" Kurt cried. "My entire life is here! My family is here! All of my dreams and aspirations are here!"

"They are of a lesser concern than the responsibilities I have, Master Kurt," Blaine said, his face rigid in its mask of supreme authority. "I will allow you to bring along your maid so that you will have someone familiar to attend to your needs."

Kurt looked back at his father, who was mindlessly shifting through papers on his desk.

As far as Burt Hummel was concerned, the final word on the matter had been spoken.

"I will have the contracts drawn up," Blaine said, refilling his glass, "and have them brought by in the morning."

"How can you do this?" Kurt asked both men, but mainly his father. "My mother wouldn't have sold me off…" Kurt felt the anger and the injustice rise within him, causing him to speak when propriety would have advised against it. "She wouldn't have sold any of us off to pay a debt, no matter what the sum!"

Burt slammed his hands on his desk and stood to face his son.

"Your mother isn't here now, is she?" he roared.

Kurt's face turned bright red, rivaling the firelight inside the small room. That comment by his father was the last straw. This couldn't be borne. He wouldn't have it. He would have none of it, but what could he do?

Nothing. The life he knew and the future he had planned for were over.

He turned from the room and ran, making a spectacle of himself, but he could hardly care.

Adam would be there soon, and Kurt would have to find a way to tell him good-bye.


	5. Chapter 4

Kurt paced the entryway of his father's house, peeking out the window from time to time, looking for signs of Adam prowling around in the dark. Marley stayed close by her master, but her signature smile stayed absent from her face. She stood quietly and watched - Kurt's rigid shoulders a testament to the tension in his body, the dried tracks of his tears evidence of his pain.

Marley had long since stopped apologizing to her master for this underhanded arrangement, and severely loathed Lord Anderson on Kurt's behalf. She longed to find some other way that she could help, but there was nothing she could do. She was as well caught up in the sorrow of having to leave the Hummel household, for it was the only home she had ever known.

Kurt had granted her permission to stay, but she couldn't do that.

She couldn't abandon her master.

Kurt heard a scurry of footfalls on the steps, and a scratching at the wooden door. His heart leapt to his throat, his mind swimming with the excitement of their original plans, to run away and elope – to start a new life together.

That life was but a dream now.

Kurt looked at Marley, who nodded encouragingly toward the door. Kurt scanned the room behind them – a room full of revelry and dancing of which he took no part in. Finn Hudson and his mother, Carole, had been summoned from town and brought to the Hummel house in Lord Anderson's own carriage. Somewhere within where the music swirled around in rapturous celebration, Rachel danced in her beloved's arms.

Blaine Anderson was lost in that same crowd, probably holed up in a corner with his drink.

Good riddance, Kurt thought, since he had no wish to lay eyes on the man.

Kurt reached for the doorknob. Part of his brain screamed at him to forget about all of this – forget his father, forget Blaine Anderson, and run away like he and Adam had planned.

Run far away and never look back.

Kurt turned back to the party and caught a glimpse of his sister, bubbly and laughing, looking up at Finn as if the sun rose and set in his eyes. Kurt sighed. He couldn't forget his sister, who had been thrown into this needlessly. If Kurt left, then Lord Anderson would surely retract his offer, and who knew what would happen after that.

It was a cruel thing for fate to ask him to exchange his happiness for another's, but he would do it for none other than his beloved sister.

As luck would have it, that dastardly voice of fate caught him before he made it to the door.

"Going to see your gentleman caller, I see, Master Kurt?"

Kurt's hand around the brass knob tightened.

"Not at all, Lord Anderson," Kurt said.

"Ah," Blaine said, not at all convinced, "so is there another matter of a pastry that's gone missing, or some other cake-based emergency to be dealt with?"

Kurt sighed, but he didn't remove his hand from the door knob.

"What is it exactly that you need of me, Lord Anderson?" Kurt asked, his shoulders trembling.

"You know, when I arrived here, I thought you would be a bit happier to see me," Blaine said, this time without his mocking tone.

"I might have been, my lord," Kurt said, "if you had behaved more civilly toward me, if you had been forthright with your purpose for coming here, and if you had not ambushed me with this marriage proposal."

"Had I done all of that, would you have not objected to the marriage then?" Blaine asked

"I still would have objected, my lord," Kurt said frankly, "but it would have improved my opinion of you."

Kurt turned the knob to open the door, but Blaine reached out a hand and grabbed Kurt's elbow. Kurt dropped his head, his forehead knocking against the wood.

"Lord Anderson," Kurt said quietly, "I had a life before you showed up on our doorstep today. I had hopes and plans for the future. In the last few hours since you've been here, all of that has changed." Kurt turned watery blue eyes to the man standing beside him, unwilling to relinquish his arm. "Part of that life is standing outside my front door. Please, give me the opportunity to say good-bye to it."

Blaine's eyes hardened, his grip tightened, and Kurt's lower lip quivered.

"Please, my lord," Kurt whispered.

Blaine looked at Kurt – his slumped shoulders, his red eyes. He was a pitiable creature. He deserved more compassion than Blaine had given him.

"Fine," Blaine said in a stern tone, "but stay out front where I may see you."

Blaine loosened the hand around Kurt's arm and took a step away, giving Kurt leave to open the door. Kurt swallowed down bitter tears before they could break free from his eyes.

"Yes, my lord," Kurt said sadly. "If that is what you wish."

Kurt opened the door and slipped out into the night, the thought of running away still fresh in his mind, though he knew it to be impossible. With Blaine standing in the entryway, there was no way he and Adam could evade his notice, and besides, Blaine had money, connections.

There would be nowhere safe for them to hide that Blaine would not be able to find them.

Kurt raised his eyes from the steps and saw Adam, peeking out from behind one of the topiaries. He was wearing his traveling coat and hat, with a rough sack full of his clothes slung over his shoulder. Kurt wondered if Adam told his employer anything about their plans, or maybe just left him a note. Either way, Kurt hoped Adam could secure his position again at the bakery after this night was over.

"Kurt!" Adam called out, beckoning Kurt over. The topiaries were further out into the green of the front lawn, beyond the reach of the light from the house. Kurt looked over his shoulder to see Blaine standing in the window, watching them carefully.

"I cannot," Kurt called back. "I need you to come here, into…into the light."

Adam shrugged his bag higher up onto his shoulder and walked to where Kurt stood glued to the stones beneath his feet. Kurt had to constantly remind himself that Blaine was there, chaperoning this whole meeting, or else he would run like mad whether Adam went with him or not.

"So, how did things go, Mr. Hummel?" Adam asked. He looked Kurt over from head to toe. He noticed that Kurt had not put on clothes suitable for traveling, but he didn't bring it up.

"I have news," Kurt started, finding the words hard to force out, especially the way Adam smiled at him, the innocent and loving sparkle in his eye that begged Kurt to come away with him, "and some changes."

"Changes?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Kurt said, clearing his throat. "Rachel won't be required to marry Lord Anderson after all."

"That's…that's wonderful!" Adam exclaimed, sighing with relief. "Oh, thank goodness. Everything turned out alright then."

"No, it is not," Kurt said, lowering his eyes to his feet, finding he had not the courage to reveal the truth while he gazed into Adam's guileless blue eyes, "because I am."

Adam stared at Kurt, not comprehending entirely the meaning behind what he had said, or why this man that Adam cared for so deeply would not look at him.

"You are what?" Adam asked, the glimmer of excitement fading from his eyes.

"I am marrying him," Kurt admitted. "Apparently, it was always going to be me, we just hadn't been informed…"

"I don't understand…" Adam went on, the smile now truly gone from his face, "your sister is the eldest. Isn't she supposed to…"

"Yes," Kurt interrupted, finding a need to be done with this conversation before his heart split in two, "yes, she should marry first, and she will. Lord Anderson gave Finn Hudson means to wed her, and they will. On the morrow." Kurt's voice broke. "And so will I."

"No!" Adam cried, and Kurt heard the heartbreak in his voice. "You can't! There has to be a way to stop this!"

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and ward his tears away.

Adam dropped his bag to the ground and made to take Kurt by the arms, but Kurt stepped out of his reach, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder that Adam caught. He looked up and saw the imposing countenance of the young earl staring at them from the window, and he understood.

There was nothing either of them could do.

Adam looked at the ground, at his bag, searching for a way around the inevitable.

"Then marry him," Adam said decisively, "but take me on as a lover."

Kurt couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind while he was pacing the floor, waiting for Adam to arrive.

"I will not," Kurt said, watching Adam's face crumble. "I cannot. I may not like him, but I will not dishonor him, or my family, or us. I am not going to sully what we have." Kurt sighed, taking another step back. "Just, remember me fondly, ok?"

Adam watched Kurt walk away, step by step.

He couldn't let Kurt leave like this, not if he was never to see him again.

"Wait," Adam said. He picked up his bag and rifled through it, pulling from a pocket a small spray of flowers – several sprigs of lavender tied together with a piece of thin purple ribbon. He presented it to Kurt, holding it between his fingers, twirling it idly. "I was going to give this to you, for you to wear when we…it's from the planter outside my windowsill."

Kurt knew it was probably not advisable to accept this gift, but so many people had dictated his life this evening that he was going to do something for himself and not regret it. He took the flowers from Adam's fingers and held them beneath his nose, inhaling their fresh scent.

"Thank you," Kurt said, hiding the flowers carefully in his pocket. "They're beautiful."

Adam nodded. Then Kurt did the hardest thing he had ever been called upon to do.

He turned from Adam's pleading eyes and walked away.

Adam's eyes followed Kurt as he walked up the steps. The door opened before Kurt reached it with Lord Anderson there to greet him.

"Good evening, Mr. Crawford," Blaine said from the doorway in a harsh, dismissive manner.

"Good evening, milord," Adam returned through clenched teeth, biting back the curses that burned the tip of his tongue. He shouldered his bag, turned, and walked away, with Blaine's eyes watching him until he was out of sight.

"What did your young friend give you?" Blaine asked Kurt reproachfully.

Kurt swallowed hard. Blaine had everything from him now. He would not give Blaine the satisfaction of knowing this secret.

"Nothing that concerns you, my lord," Kurt said firmly. Blaine's lips twitched. He almost smiled.

"Everything about you concerns me, Master Kurt," Blaine said, reaching for the lapel to Kurt's jacket, preparing to force it open. Marley, standing by the door and watching the crushing scene, huffed loudly and stamped her foot in protest.

Blaine snapped his head to glare at the girl, dropping his hold on Kurt's jacket.

"I do not believe that your maid likes me, Master Kurt," Blaine said.

"That's very odd to me, my lord," Kurt said, "for Marley likes everyone." Kurt pulled out of Blaine's reach and gave him a bow. "If you don't mind, my lord, I am tired. I think that I will call it a night…" Blaine stared at him, but gave Kurt no answer. "If it pleases you, of course," Kurt added. "I have a long day ahead of me if I am to be married tomorrow."

"Yes," Blaine said, bowing to Kurt in a grand, overstated way, "it does please me that you should get some rest. I will see you in the morning, Master Kurt." Blaine took Kurt's hand in his. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it, his eyes boring into Kurt's with something akin to desire.

Blaine released Kurt's hand and acknowledged Marley with only the briefest of nods before going back to the main hall to rejoin the celebration, to accept more congratulations and to shake more hands.

Kurt retreated to his room. The sound of music and laughter he left behind, and shut himself away. Marley helped him undress, and then he sent her to her room with a smile that looked stronger than he felt. He slipped into his night shirt and crawled beneath the thick quilt on his bed – a quilt his mother had made for him before she passed away. He held on to it in his balled fists, hoping for a little of her fortitude to help see him through.

The party didn't break until well after sunrise, but Kurt had cried himself to sleep long before then.

* * *

It seemed that Lord Anderson had not even left the Hummel's house. He was there with them at the table for breakfast, wearing a fresh day suit and looking marvelously well-rested, though he did grimace with pain when he sat or walked, and Kurt could tell that Blaine worked hard to keep that look from his face. Blaine sat at the head of the table again, and this time Kurt was seated to his left, where he could pass Blaine the salt, the butter, the jam – anything his lordship required. Blaine could have just as well requested the condiments from one of the surrounding servants, but he made it a point to request them from Kurt, and Kurt could do nothing but comply.

This was Kurt's life now – to serve his husband.

Kurt stabbed himself in the leg with his fork beneath the table to keep from dropping the whole pot of honey into Blaine's lap.

Much of the morning after breakfast was spent with Blaine and Burt locked away in Burt's office, accompanied by Blaine's solicitors, drawing up contracts and outlining the terms and conditions of the marriages of Burt's two only children.

And Burt seemed quite at his leisure.

Finn and Carole were also present with the solicitors, until Finn snuck out and disappeared with Rachel for a good portion of the afternoon. Once the paperwork was complete, Carole took Rachel into town to pick out her wedding clothes. Rachel allowed Carole to decide on everything except the dress.

Rachel wanted to wear the enchanting dress Kurt had made for her, and she would accept no other.

Carole thought the dress and the sentiment were both simply breathtaking.

Kurt didn't have the time to make a new suit, and he was certain that the readymade stores in town carried nothing he would like. It had always been a dream of his to order his wedding ensemble from Paris. Since that was in no way a possibility, he simply chose the one suit he had that was his finest.

In an odd twist of luck, it happened to be white.

The wedding ceremony, tense and uncomfortable, had ended as swiftly as it had begun. Flanked by his fiancé and his father, and tended to by his maid, the couple was surrounded by only those who lived close enough to attend. They had not even enough time to put a notice in the paper. If Rachel hadn't been so blissfully happy about the circumstances of her own quick betrothal and marriage, she might have been properly appalled on both their behalves. But a full page announcement had been promised to her by Lord Anderson for the following week, and that was enough to suffice the girl.

Not for Kurt, however. He did not care for anyone to know about his current predicament.

The spot at Blaine's side that would have been filled by his brother remained empty, since Blaine could not even consider asking anyone else to stand in for him. In Blaine's eyes, there was no man on Earth worthy enough to take his brother's place.

Kurt barely heard a word that was said throughout the whole ceremony – not the voices of the children singing hymns, or the sermon of the priest as he spoke the words that would forever join their lives. Kurt hid inside his heart, refusing to participate in the moment which all around him celebrated. Only when a pregnant pause ensued did Kurt lift his moist eyes and whisper, "I do."

The kiss that followed was supposed to be brief - only a chaste brushing of their lips together as they sealed their vows and locked their fates to this union. But in the instant when Blaine looked down at Kurt, something within him changed. Kurt's bright eyes, glistening with a light that cut through his pain and confusion, glowed up at Blaine tremendously, making his heart ache. Kurt's full, rosy lips, soft and inviting, turned up at the corners slightly as though he were going to gift him with one of his precious smiles. His cheeks reddened softly - a blush of innocence that halted the very breath in Blaine's lungs.

Without being able to stop himself, he felt his face lowering to meet Kurt's, his eyes locked on Kurt's luminous, sparkling eyes. But as Blaine's lips touched Kurt's, he heard Kurt gasp, and the scorned voice within Blaine's head spoke to him harshly. _You can't make him happy._ _He doesn't want you._


	6. Chapter 5

True to his word, as soon as rings were exchanged and vows spoken, champagne popped and cake eaten (a cake that Kurt couldn't bear to take a bite of), Kurt and Marley climbed into Blaine's carriage for the trip to the countryside – and the Anderson Estate. Servants had packed Kurt's and Marley's things in trunks for them, and a second carriage had been commissioned to deliver their belongings ahead to the manor.

Kurt didn't speak to his father throughout the entire ordeal, and before he departed, seated across from his new husband in the carriage, Kurt offered his father only a succinct and unaffectionate good-bye.

"You may want to consider a more heartfelt farewell," Lord Anderson counseled. "You never know what tomorrow may bring."

Kurt looked into Blaine's face, unable to comprehend why this matter should concern him. He turned away, letting the subject drop, but he felt Lord Anderson's eyes watch him, waiting for an answer.

"I will take the matter under advisement, my lord," Kurt said, keeping his seat and remaining quiet.

His father watched the carriage depart with blank eyes and a heavy heart, but Rachel wept openly, surrounded by her husband's arms, making a scene enough for both of them.

It took two days of traveling by carriage to reach the Anderson Estate. They made a stop overnight at a small inn after covering half the distance. They dined together but took separate rooms – which suited Kurt just fine. He wasn't ready for his wedding night, and he had no wish to consummate his marriage in a cramped room at a roadside inn. It seemed odd to Kurt for a man of Blaine's station to feel comfortable sleeping the night here. Kurt was certain they could have found a more reputable inn had they not only traveled far enough. But the owners of the establishment seemed to know Blaine well, and went to great lengths to make them feel comfortable and safe.

The mood of the journey the following day did not improve. Kurt kept to himself, staring out the carriage window with Marley by his side, holding tight to her master's hand. Blaine watched the two as they traveled. They made no conversation, with him or each other, and the young maid mirrored her master's humor. They cut a sullen picture as they rode along, and it took much on the part of the young earl to keep from rolling his eyes.

The sun began to set as they turned onto the gravel path that led to the earl's estate, and like the lifting of a veil, Kurt's whole attitude changed. He laughed and smiled, sitting forward on his bench and leaning out the window to get a better look.

"Oh, look at it, Marley," Kurt breathed. "Isn't it glorious? I haven't seen it in ages."

The body of the manor was obscured by tall trees, but the trees parted into a clearing and there it stood, magnificent but quietly intimidating. The manor house was finer than his father's, but the memories it evoked made it equally comforting.

The carriage passed through wrought gates that opened directly into the gardens, with roses flanking the road along the entrance. Blooms of every size and color reached out into the path, as if extending their spindly stems to greet them. Kurt reached out a hand and brushed the velvety petals with his fingertips as they passed. It was a special place - the flowers fragrant and vibrant, the grounds green and peaceful, reminiscent of the hillside where he sat and sketched during those times when he needed to forget his troubles for a while. Kurt felt that it would be in this rose garden of many colors that he would find his Eden.

He would need it, for as they further approached the massive house, he could already see an entire assemblage of servants lined up to greet them.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and a young man with dark skin hurried forward to open the carriage door. Kurt heard Blaine mutter, "Thank you, Matthew," as he exited the carriage and struggled down the few steps, with the man ever present in case Blaine should misstep and fall. Kurt emerged after his husband, but the helpful servant returned to his place in line, not offering Kurt a hand to help him down.

"These are the servants for the grounds and the house," Blaine explained. "The main servants, actually. There are others, but I don't know that you will have occasion to speak with them."

Kurt nodded, since there was nothing he could think of to say.

Blaine went down the line of maids and butlers, footmen and stable hands. Some of them wore faces Kurt remembered - faces from his youth, with perhaps a few more lines around the eyes or a few more strands of silver to the hair. Regardless of that fact, Kurt noted that not a one looked at him. One or two of the servants stared straight ahead with eyes full of resentment. Kurt tried to focus on Blaine's voice, memorize every name as it was presented to him, but his mind was too overcome with melancholy.

He was to be the master of a household full of servants who disliked him on sight.

Only two faces stood out from the rest, and so their names became engraved in Kurt's mind.

Sebastian Smythe, keeper of the grounds, was a handsome young man with disarming green eyes. In the line of servants, he was the only one who offered Kurt a smile. His smile, which twisted at one corner and added sparkle to Sebastian's eyes, might have seemed a bit suggestive, but Kurt would take it.

Matthew Rutherford, the man who had rushed forward to help Blaine from the carriage, glanced up at Kurt and offered him a look as well, but it definitely was not a smile.

"Matthew will show you up to your bedchamber," Blaine said, gesturing for the man to come forward. The young servant looked at his lord adoringly and Kurt began to understand where this man's aversion to him came from.

"Yes, my lord," Kurt said to Blaine with a bow. "Thank you."

"Freshen up," Blaine said. "Dinner will be ready within the hour."

"Yes, my lord," Kurt said, sounding in his own mind like a parrot, repeating the only sentiment he had reason to say. His feelings didn't matter, his opinion didn't matter, and Blaine didn't seem to want to talk with him anyway.

Kurt followed Matthew, with Marely trailing along behind, when Blaine spoke up again.

"The below-stairs maid can show your maid to her room," Blaine commanded.

Kurt's heart seized. He looked at Marley, already being led away by a petite, plump older woman in a striped cotton gown and white linen cap – a uniform shared by the rest of the maids that Kurt could see. Marley glanced once over her shoulder, hugging her arms with empathetic dolor before disappearing out of sight into the house.

"This way, milord," Matthew said politely enough, but there was something to the way he spoke that made Kurt feel unwelcome. Kurt continued into the house, hoping for some cloak of familiarity to make his imprisonment here bearable. He climbed up stairs he had run up in his youth and held on to a bannister he had slid down a hundred times before, but now it felt alien. He thought the house would open its arms to him and welcome him back, but like everything else, it had changed. He had no idea how he was going to make this house feel like home.

Matthew ignored him, not even addressing him again until they stopped in front of an ornate wooden door.

"This is your bedchamber, milord," Matthew said, grabbing the doorknob and pushing open the door. Kurt took a step in and coughed. The room smelled like dust, as if it hadn't been aired in a decade or more. Kurt peeked in and took sight of the antique décor and the feminine furnishings, baffled.

"Is this…Lord Anderson's bedchamber?" Kurt asked, putting a hand over his nose and mouth to keep from inhaling a lifetime's worth of stagnance.

"No, milord," Matthew replied with a hint of a condescending chuckle. "Lord Anderson occupies a different bedchamber. _This_ bedchamber once belonged to the Countess Anderson."

Matthew bowed, starting back down the hallway when Kurt stepped out and stopped him.

"I am to stay in his mother's old bedchamber?" Kurt asked, remotely insulted by the placement.

"Yes, milord," Matthew answered with another bow, the corner of his mouth twisting in an ever so slight grin. "Lord Anderson felt it would suit you best."

* * *

Blaine limped up the stairs and into the house, following in the shadow of his new husband's footsteps. The usual dull ache in his leg had been exacerbated by the long carriage rides to and from Burt Hummel's house, and evenings of sleeping in mediocre beds. That was behind him now; he could return to the business of managing the estate and trying to bring his brother's murderer to justice - a mission that had turned into a fool's errand years ago.

Except that now he had a new husband to sort out.

Blaine had to admit, it wasn't going well.

Blaine watched Matthew escort Kurt to his new accommodations. Blaine's own bedchamber, inhabited by a bachelor of his quality for too long, was ill-prepared for someone of Kurt's refined elegance and delicate sensibilities. Besides, Blaine valued his privacy, as well as his time alone. He designed instead for his husband to take up residence in his mother's room, which had been enshrined since her passing years ago. With its four-poster bed draped in sheer fabric and its finely carved chest of drawers, he felt it suited Kurt's more fashionable tastes.

To Kurt, the room felt dreadfully large and lonely.

* * *

The great hall echoed with the sounds of silverware working against China plates and footsteps shuffling across marble floors as servants set the long table with the start of several courses. There was plenty of clatter to make conversation unnecessary, if not impossible. Through the silences, Kurt held his breath in the hopes that Blaine would have no reason to scowl at him if he forgot Kurt was sitting across the table from him.

The manor's hall was extremely large, much larger than the dining hall at home...much too large for simply the pair of them. It was meant for more fanciful feasts - for the regalia of the dinner they should be hosting to celebrate their wedding, not this tense meal.

Kurt was fine with being ignored, but over the past two days of travel to the Anderson Estate, he had hoped that being here at last would make Blaine easier - that maybe they could segue into that friendship of their youth and work their way up from there. Kurt couldn't help being confused. At his father's house, it seemed that Blaine wanted Kurt to know how completely powerless he was to deny this match. There had to be some reason for Blaine wanting Kurt. But now that they were alone together in the home they would share, Blaine wouldn't look at him.

"It's been a while since I've been here, my lord," Kurt piped up, not too eager to start conversation with his wayward husband, but more to dispel the oppressive tension. "Not much has change."

Blaine nodded at Kurt's comment without looking up from this meal.

Kurt blew out a breath, trying to think up another innocuous comment he could make.

"The rose garden is new though, isn't it?" Kurt asked. "Was that your idea, my lord?"

"No," Blaine answered between bites.

Kurt waited for more, but Blaine seemed completely enthralled in slicing up his meat, and couldn't care less about the roses or any other flower.

Kurt was running dangerously low on polite conversation.

"I heard you had been knighted," Kurt said, trying for something more intriguing than the upkeep of the estate. He was certain that appealing to Blaine's ego would do the trick, and what could he be prouder of than his knighthood? Instead, Blaine gazed up at him from the rim of his glass, downing his merlot with one gulp. The bemused semi-glare Blaine returned almost struck at Kurt, proving that he had stumbled across the wrong topic of conversation.

Though there didn't appear to be a _right_ subject of conversation.

They sat in silence throughout the rest of the meal, each elaborate landscape of food left untouched on Kurt's plate.

"Why are you not eating, husband?" Blaine asked. Kurt jumped, not prepared to be asked a question after such a lengthy stretch of silence.

"I'm sorry, my lord?" Kurt replied, looking up from his plate.

"You've barely taken a bite," Blaine continued. "Do you feel unwell? Or is the food not agreeable to you?"

"The food is excellent, my lord," Kurt said, grasping at this bit of spontaneous speech. Maybe Blaine simply didn't believe in dinner conversation. After all, he had been quiet at every meal they'd had together since they'd been reunited. "I just don't seem to have much of an appetite. It must be from the traveling."

"Hmmm, I see. In that case, you may turn in," Blaine said with a wave of his hand.

"Turn in, my lord?" Kurt returned with a questioning look.

"Yes, husband," Blaine replied, "to your bedchamber."

"My bedchamber?" Kurt continued to ask, perplexed as to why he was being dismissed the way a child would be, simply for not eating his dinner.

"Yes. _Your_ bedchamber. It's that room where you sleep." Blaine barely looked up from his roast to Kurt. He wasn't hungry either, but he needed something else to focus his attention on. However, idly moving a single morsel of food around his plate with his fork was barely intriguing enough.

Kurt didn't want this to be the end of the evening, which struck him as funny since a couple of days ago, being given his leave to retire would have been a blessing in this same situation.

But how would Kurt inspire husbandly affection in this man if he ran and hid in his room?

"Will you not join me, my lord?"

Kurt's timid voice astounded Blaine considering its intent. Blaine thought on the matter a moment, then nodded his head.

"Prepare yourself. I will join you later," Blaine answered sternly, raising his eyes to meet Kurt's gaze. _Much later_ , Blaine thought, _after much bourbon_.

"But..." Kurt's face looked positively crestfallen as he began to realize he might actually spend this night alone. Blaine thought that considering the circumstances, Kurt wouldn't mind a postponement. It hadn't occurred to Blaine that Kurt might be looking forward to his wedding night. This match might not be what Kurt had planned, but he probably had some preconceived idea of what the wedding night would be like. No doubt he had thought the whole scene through in his mind - a luxurious room dripping in velvet curtains, lit by rows of beeswax candles, roses of every color covering every conceivable surface. Blaine chided himself for not having the forethought to provide some vestige of romance for him.

None of this was going the way Blaine had anticipated. Certainly this marriage was a necessity for him, and a marriage to Kurt had been one of convenience, but that didn't mean Blaine wasn't looking forward to it. Things would be different now if Kurt's infatuation with that baker hadn't deprived Blaine of the reunion he had envisioned.

Blaine's pride had been bruised, and that was a difficult thing for him to recover from.

No matter. At the moment, the tremendous discomfort settling within him blotted out any noble gesture that may have come to Blaine's mind. Furthermore, he realized that he had let the silence between them go on for far too long.

"Of course," he said, forcing a smile. "We must make haste and consummate this marriage, mustn't we?" The candor of his words shocked Kurt. His face went crimson immediately, but he did not look away or cower like a silly child.

"Yes, my lord," was his simple and regretful sounding reply. Blaine dropped his napkin on the table and stood slowly. The ache in his leg would have been enough to put him off this act for at least another evening, but he was eager to get the whole situation over and done with. He took up his cane and limped slowly to the spot where Kurt stood, nearly frozen. Blaine could tell from the pulsing of the vein in Kurt's neck that his heart was racing. Blaine was surprised to find that his body responded immediately to that knowledge.

He scoffed. Most likely out of fear than arousal must have been his response. Blaine looked Kurt in the eyes and saw his fear, but he saw something else, too. Determination, and a fierce one at that.

What did Blaine know? It might be fun to go head to head with Kurt Hummel.

Correction – Kurt Hummel _Anderson_.

Blaine would definitely need another drink.

"Go on ahead," Blaine said, gesturing toward the staircase with his hand. "I'll be along in a minute."

* * *

Blaine was still capable of walking relatively straight as he made his way up to Kurt's bedchamber, which was an exceedingly bad sign. It meant that Blaine wasn't as inebriated as he wanted to be when he faced Kurt. Blaine knew he was being selfish taking Kurt like this, but in his heart he knew this whole marriage was wrong. Kurt deserved better. He deserved to be wooed properly, but Blaine had spent so much of his time being a self-centered prick that he had forgotten how. The subtle intricacies of carefully orchestrated seduction had been lost to him seven or so whores ago.

Besides, when it came down to it, the crux of everything in his life was that he simply didn't have the time.

He had gone from family disgrace to earl in such a short amount of time, with people wondering how on earth he got to be earl at all with his noble brother standing in his way. Being wed was one of the only ways he could think of to be taken seriously, to silence the wagging tongues that questioned his abilities to govern his title.

He needed to prove that he could commit to something in his life other than wild goose chases and whiskey.

Kurt was the key to that.

Stumbling up the stairs, Blaine questioned why he even assumed that Kurt still had his virtue. After all, he was a young man, and devastatingly handsome at that. It was only women expected to remain chaste and pure, so to speak. Kurt had already had one suitor. _Adam_. There must have been others, unless the world had suddenly gone both blind and dumb while Blaine had avoided the first circles of society. That knowledge didn't make Blaine feel any better, especially since the idea of that soft, overly-apologetic peasant having his Kurt filled him with vile, irrational anger.

Blaine swayed before his husband's bedchamber door, reaching to grab hold of the knob which kept eluding his grasp.

"Shit," he said, reaching for the blurry bastard and catching only air. "Shit…hold still you…fuck…"

He managed to grab hold of the blasted thing and twist it, but it would not budge.

"Come on…" he mumbled. "You Godforsaken piece of…"

The knob twisted in his hands and the door swung open, pulling Blaine along.

"Whoa," he said, falling forward into his mother's bedroom and right into the arms of a beautifully morose young man.

Blaine stood upright, his smile a little more lopsided than he had counted on, but confident that it should still do the trick. Blaine looked at Kurt, dressed in the same suit he had on at dinner, and frowned.

"Darling," he said, closing the door behind him, "when I asked you to prepare yourself, I had hoped you would be naked. Or at least dressed in that scrumptious suit from our wedding day. I have never bedded a man wearing wedding white."

Kurt backed away toward the bed, his knees hitting the mattress the exact same time that his heart stopped. Kurt couldn't help thinking of what Marley had said about Blaine being _exceptionally well-versed in the way of physical affection_ (which was how she so delicately put it).

"Why so pale all of a sudden, husband?" Blaine asked, fumbling with his coat, getting his arm stuck at the elbows.

"It's nothing, my lord," Kurt said, watching Blaine as he struggled to be free of his clothes. "Only that I've heard…rumors."

"Oh," Blaine chuckled, tugging at his coat until one of the blind seams in the lining ripped. "Undoubtedly, they're probably all true."

Kurt nodded, watching Blaine practically rip the coat off his body and fling it to the floor.

Kurt was nervous enough about the prospect of sex with Lord Anderson. When he had asked Blaine abed, he had been hoping to salvage the evening and thought this might be a good place to start. But the fact that Blaine had to drink himself into a stupor in order to be with him made Kurt want to disappear into the floorboards.

"Have there been…many, my lord?" Kurt asked, wanting to know the truth right from the source, certain that any answer Blaine gave couldn't make the evening worse.

"Many what?" Blaine asked, starting on his pants.

"Lovers, my lord," Kurt clarified, watching Blaine stumble over his laces.

"Oh," Blaine snorted. "Some…a lot…but who remembers names and faces."

"Oh," Kurt said, looking away. Blaine saw the disheartened look on Kurt's face and groaned.

"Don't behave like that. You're not a child," Blaine snapped. "What about you and your besotted baker?"

Kurt forced himself to look at his husband.

"We never…I haven't…"

Blaine rolled his eyes and cursed when he had no luck with his laces, his pants staying firmly in place.

"Have you known any men?" Blaine asked gruffly, impatient to get things underway.

"No, my lord," Kurt said with a hint of pride in his terrified voice. "I have not."

Kurt's answer gave rise to a whole different set of emotions inside Blaine.

A virgin. Kurt was a virgin. Blaine didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

He attacked Kurt's clothes with gusto, fueled by that knowledge.

"Come on, husband," Blaine slurred, working at the buttons with clumsy fingers, "I've at least gotten one item of clothing off. You haven't even gotten started."

Blaine tore open Kurt`s waistcoat, popping a few buttons along the way, causing Kurt to flinch. A slight movement, like the flutter of a butterfly`s wing, caught Blaine's eye. Kurt remembered when he saw the blur of purple reflected in Blaine's eyes. Adam's present. Kurt had forgotten that it was in his pocket. Kurt went to rescue it, but Blaine grabbed his wrist with one hand and plucked the sprig of lavender from Kurt's inside pocket with the other. Blaine held it between his fingers and twirled it around, the sight of it vexing him deeply, filling him with rage and humiliation.

"What is this little thing?" he barked around a laugh. Kurt stared as Blaine toyed with it, inches from his face. "A nosegay? No, not this. Tokens from other lovers? Well, we`ll have no more of that!"

Blaine tossed the thing over his shoulder. Kurt's stricken gaze followed it as it fluttered to the floor. Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist and pulled him close, feeling Kurt tremble against him.

"See, we can't have that, Kurt, because you're mine now," Blaine said, running his nose up the length of Kurt's neck, placing gentle kisses along his skin. "You're my husband… _my_ husband…and you're supposed to want me. Nobody else."

Blaine heard Kurt sniffle, and looked up at his husband, annoyed with Kurt for whimpering.

But what he saw in Kurt's face was worse.

Resignation – teeth clenched, eyes pointed to the ceiling, a single tear rolling down his cheek, praying for this to be over.

Blaine had made many a virgin wither beneath his touch, but not like this – not out of fear. If Kurt could just give him one small smile, like the ones he gave so freely to the Crawford boy, Blaine would have been different. But no matter how sweet Blaine tried to make his kisses, Kurt only stared at Blaine as if he were a monster.

In retrospect, getting drunk first was a horrid place to start.

Blaine had never had to force himself on anyone in his life, and he wasn't about to start with his husband.

His _husband_.

Blaine looked at Kurt – his _husband_ Kurt – no more than a boy really, frightened, upset, his soul aching to be with someone else.

Blaine couldn't do this to him.

Not tonight.

Blaine released Kurt and stepped away. He looked around the floor to locate the discarded nosegay. It had been trampled slightly underfoot, but looked unharmed. He bent awkwardly at the waist to pick it up.

"Here," Blaine said, placing it gently in Kurt`s palm and closing his fingers carefully around it. "I`ll…I'll let you keep your happiness a little bit longer."

Kurt held the flowers in his shaking hand, cradling them over his heart, as he watched Blaine take up his ruined coat and hobble out the door.


	7. Chapter 6

Kurt didn't ring for Marley to help him get ready for bed after Blaine left him alone – too embarrassed to admit to her what did and _didn't_ happen. His body too drained from the emotional turmoil he'd been through, he took off his coat and his waistcoat and climbed into bed, stockings and all.

Kurt woke when he felt the sun on his face. It was only a single ray of warmth, but it was enough to do the trick. He opened his eyes, sticky and burning from crying himself to sleep (a habit he was beginning to despise). His body felt heavy and he didn't want to move, but he didn't want anyone to think him a layabout either. He rose slowly in search of a basin and water to clean up with. He looked about the room and noticed things had been moved – his clothes had been picked up off the end of the bed and put away (presumably in the standing wardrobe, as he had yet to check), and his trunks had been brought up from the carriage. On the table beside his bed was the basin he was looking for and a pitcher, which felt full when he picked it up.

Beside the pitcher, on the side of the table closest to him, lay his lavender nosegay.

Kurt turned his head left and right, searching the room for any other evidence that Blaine had returned at some point in the night, since none other but Marley would know of the nosegay's significance, but nothing else seemed to point to his specific influence. It probably was Marley, helping the servants bring up his things.

He hoped it wasn't Matthew.

Kurt found a towel and washed up, unpacking the few items that hadn't already been hung up or put away, and then dressed for the day. Then he rang for his maid. It seemed to take her no time at all to arrive at his room, and he wondered how far removed her quarters were from his. She was dressed in the same striped cotton gown and white linen cap that the rest of the servants wore, along with the addition of a white apron. Her eyes looked tired. Kurt supposed she hadn't slept well with this being a new home for her, but her smile hadn't dimmed, and that gave Kurt comfort.

"Oh, Master Kurt…I mean, milord," she said with a shy smile, bobbing a curtsy when she saw him. "I thought you'd never wake up."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked, watching as she poured him a cup of coffee. "What time is it?"

"It's well past noon, Ma-milord," she corrected herself.

"Why did you not wake me?" Kurt asked with an edge of annoyance in his voice.

"Forgive me, milord," she said, smiling when remembering Kurt's new title came more easily for her, "but Lord Anderson requested this morning that you not be disturbed."

"You spoke to Lord Anderson this morning?" Kurt asked, surprisingly a bit jealous.

"I did, milord," Marley said, adding milk and sugar to Kurt's coffee. "He was up hours ago, and left right after breakfast. Oh…" She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a folded note. "He bade me give you this."

Kurt took the letter and opened it. It wasn't a lengthy letter, and the wording was fairly dry.

_Dear Kurt –_

_Gone on an errand of personal business._

_Should be back this evening._

_Lord Anderson_

Kurt read the letter over again before folding it and putting it in his pocket.

 _Lord Anderson_.

Not Blaine Anderson, or even simply Blaine. _Lord Anderson_.

The letter contained no closing sentiment, either. Kurt didn't expect for Blaine to sign the letter _love_ , but _sincerely_ would have been nice.

So, his husband had gotten up early and run off on _personal business_ , abandoning Kurt in a household of servants who disliked him.

How pleasant.

Kurt looked around his overly large, dreary bedroom. Even with the drapes drawn back and the sunlight flooding the room, it felt like a prison – or a tomb.

Kurt needed to be out of doors. He needed the cheer of fresh air and sun.

"I think I'll go sketch in the garden this morn-or, this afternoon," Kurt said, drinking the last of his coffee and taking up his sketchbook and his charcoal pencil. "Become acquainted with the grounds and the flowers."

"Did you want me to come with you, milord?" Marley asked. Kurt smiled, hoping that her question was simply out of concern for him and not an indication that the other servants were treating her poorly.

"I'd like to be alone for a bit," Kurt said. "I have a need to clear my head."

"As you wish, milord," Marley said, gathering up the cup and saucer, and giving Kurt another of her comforting smiles. "Just ring when you have need of me."

Kurt nodded as she left, missing the sunshine of her smile the moment she closed the door behind her, but Kurt did need a moment of quiet to make sense of his new life.

* * *

Kurt walked the grounds all through the early afternoon, retracing steps he had taken as a child, hoping to find some solace in recounting them, but it was the rose garden, as he had suspected, that he found the most soothing. The flowers he had seen from the carriage were even more incredible up close. The garden itself followed the path along the face of the property, and seemed to stretch on forever. Several pathways wound through it, with a fountain situated in the center, and a single bench constructed of smooth white marble. He ran his fingers over its cool surface and discovered words etched into the stone – _For my dearest Rose_.

"Rose," Kurt said out loud.

"Countess Rose Anderson, milord," a voice answered. Kurt's head snapped up as a pair of brown eyes set into a wholly unpleasant face appeared from behind a hedge of centifolia roses. "The Great Earl had the bench installed after his wife's death."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at the man as he came closer.

"Matthew, am I correct?" Kurt asked, though he knew full well the man's name.

"Yes, milord," Matthew replied, stopping not far in front of Kurt and looking him over in a way that Kurt didn't want to allow. Kurt had hoped to become more acquainted with the servants, and somehow enter into the household's good graces, which unfortunately included this man as well. Still, Kurt abhorred the way the man stared at him, as if a bottomless well of loathing dwelled right beneath the surface of his dark brown eyes.

"Did you ever meet the Countess?" Kurt asked. Kurt had met Blaine's mother on numerous occasions, but their meetings had been so brief and insignificant that his memories of her had faded considerably.

"I did have the honor, milord," Matthew replied. "She was a remarkable woman, and she and the Great Earl were so much in _love_." Matthew put a strange emphasis on the word _love_ as to make Kurt uneasy.

"I know little of Earl Gustave," Kurt admitted. "He was always away when I visited here."

Matthew's face screwed up distastefully at Kurt's words, as if they were somehow an insult to him. Kurt nodded at the servant and began to walk away, longing to put some distance between himself and the grudging man. He felt Matthew's eyes on him, but it was the muffled sound of a laugh that gave Kurt pause.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, turning back to the inscrutable man, "have I done something to amuse you?"

"I'm not seeing any limp," Matthew stated boldly, his eyes dropping down purposefully to Kurt's behind, "and I know for a fact that Lord Anderson gives, he does not take, so I am guessing an uneventful wedding night, milord?"

"Pardon me," Kurt said, furious that this man had figured him out so easily and had the audacity to throw that in his face, "but that is none of your business."

"Actually, it is more my business than you realize, milord," Matthew said with a reckless smile, aware that Kurt could have him whipped for his insolence, but confident that none on the property would actually carry out the action if Kurt ordered it, not with Lord Anderson away.

"And why is that?" Kurt asked, not sure that he wanted to know the answer. He knew what took place in other households between masters and servants, and he was well aware that he had recently stepped into this already established hierarchy, of which he stood at the bottom of the pillar, despite his social status.

"Who do you think his lordship summons when you won't perform, _milord_?"

Kurt's cheeks burned with shame and his eyes burned with tears, but he refused to give this contemptible ass the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

"I'm not certain I understand what you are implying," Kurt replied, though he would have to be daft if the man's meaning wasn't perfectly clear, "but I'll be bringing the matter up with my husband."

Matthew's confident smirk slipped a trifle, but he didn't seem too concerned with Kurt's threat.

"See that you do, milord," Matthew said, ending the conversation with a mocking bow and heading off through the roses the way he came.

Kurt waited for him to be gone, for every trace of him to disappear behind the leaves and thorns, before he sat, shaking on the bench of white stone. He looked down at his sketchbook and turned to the page with the drawing of Adam wearing Kurt's design for a suit that Marley had so much admired.

"Oh, darling," he whispered, tracing over the image of Adam's face with his fingertips, fighting back a torrent of tears. "Can I change my mind? Can I run away with you now?"

He closed the book, held it tight to his chest, and gave himself permission to sob.

* * *

A month had nearly run its course, and every day was the same for Kurt. Blaine would away in the early morning on _personal business_ , leaving Kurt to his own devices, which included walking and drawing and writing letters to his sister. Though he was devoted to writing to her daily, she was spotty herself at writing back.

Probably because her time was better occupied than Kurt's.

On the days Blaine stayed at home, he remained locked up in his office, not coming out until dinner time, usually a brandy or two heavier before the soup course had begun.

Life in the country wasn't so exciting as Kurt's life near the city had been, with all of its many diversions – some more fair and kind than others – but there was a quiet solitude about the manor house and its surrounding property. It was a sanctuary where nothing troubled him or touched him.

Well, almost nothing.

Matthew continued to haunt Kurt's steps with his claims of an ongoing relationship with Lord Anderson, fueled by Kurt's own reluctance at intimacy. Before, it had been simply a blow to Kurt's ego, but now it was a thorn embedded in his heart. Kurt had loved Blaine once, and even with his many changes, Kurt had begun to picture himself falling in love with Blaine again.

He would need to if he was to survive this marriage.

Blaine didn't bring up the matter of sex with Kurt again after that first night, giving Kurt the freedom to retire to bed when he pleased, or leaving himself without so much as a goodnight.

All of this confirmed what Kurt had feared to be true.

Blaine had made his choice, and a mortified Kurt never broached the issue.

Dinnertime came on another unspectacular evening, but this time Kurt noticed Blaine staring at him from across the table. Kurt looked up several times and caught Blaine's eyes staring in that same shameless way he had at his father's house from across the ballroom.

"Is there something wrong, my lord?" Kurt asked, finding it hard to concentrate on his meal with those sinful eyes watching him.

"What is it that you draw, bent over that sketchbook of yours all day long?" Blaine asked, his eyes falling to the book seated beside Kurt on the table. Kurt jumped when he saw it, usually so careful to keep it hidden amongst his things when Blaine was around. It was like a diary to him, and he never meant for it to be discovered.

"This…" Kurt said, regarding the book anxiously as if it were some stolen item he was not meant to have. Blaine stood from his chair and rounded the table, and Kurt began to fret. "It's just scribblings, my lord. Nonsense drawings. Something to pass the time."

Blaine grabbed the book up off the table and began to flip through its pages.

"It is nothing, my lord," Kurt insisted, reaching out to retrieve it only to have Blaine snatch it higher and away. "It's…it's private."

"Private?" Blaine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Which is to say, it's naught very good, my lord," Kurt stammered. "I would be embarrassed for you to see it."

"I don't believe that," Blaine said, "so you had best be careful, as the punishment for lying in my house is a sound spanking." Kurt was outraged by the suggestion at being spanked like a common brat, but it was incentive for him to sit back in his seat and bite his tongue. "Besides, for all the time and effort you put into these pages, you should be able to rival Rembrandt by now." Kurt wanted to preen at Blaine's compliment, but it came at the price of having his privacy invaded, so he fumed instead. "I also remember that you were quite the artist once upon a time. Are you trying to tell me you've gotten worse since then?"

Kurt turned his face up to his husband, mouth agape.

"You remember that, my lord?" Kurt asked.

"Of course," Blaine said, captivated by Kurt's drawings as he examined them one by one – the manor house, the rose garden, Rachel in her wedding dress, Marley serving Kurt his morning coffee. "I remember a great many things about you."

"Like…what?" Kurt ventured, curious what a man like Blaine Anderson might remember about him.

"Oh, I remember how fond you were of riding once you got the knack for it," Blaine said, turning the page. "I remember how much you loved to sew…"

Blaine's eyes found the sketch of the suit Kurt had been working on before the wedding – the suit he had drawn on a likeness of Adam.

The one sketch Kurt had been praying Blaine would somehow overlook.

Blaine lingered on the image a frighteningly long time while Kurt sat, sweating beneath his clothes. Kurt couldn't imagine what Blaine must be thinking, but suddenly Kurt became irate that Blaine should be mad at all, especially considering his dalliances with the help.

Blaine closed the book with a heavy _thwap_ and handed it back to Kurt, almost flinging the thing in Kurt's lap. Blaine paced beside the table with that indelicate limp of his, and Kurt held his breath, waiting for his husband to storm off to his office and retire with his bottle of bourbon.

Without warning, Blaine grabbed Kurt by the wrist and yanked him to his feet.

"Wha-" the syllable slipped out of Kurt's mouth, but Blaine was already pulling him away.

"Come along, _husband_ ," Blaine said. "I`ve let you mourn our marriage long enough."


	8. Chapter 7

Blaine dragged Kurt up the long flight of stairs. The ascent seemed to last forever, with each step bringing a flash of red-hot pain shooting through Blaine's hips. Had propriety not forbidden it, Blaine would have much rather moved the sleeping quarters to the lower floors to forgo the horrendous trip up this unending flight of stairs.

Blaine looked over his shoulder at his husband, trudging up behind him with a grimace of despair, like an innocent man being led up to the gallows. Blaine was getting tired of his husband's lachrymose depression as of late, the way he walked the grounds alone like a specter, drawing and sighing, and staring up at the sky as if praying for constant help and guidance. Blaine wasn't adverse to his young husband. On the contrary, as a young man, there was many a day he dreamed of having Kurt Hummel as his own. A silly, childish daydream it was. But Blaine had grown to be a much different man – a man who bedded for sport and then forgot.

Kurt could change all that for him – if Blaine would see him smile again, hear him laugh and sing.

Blaine wanted Kurt to love him again, the way he always suspected that Kurt once did – he just didn't know how to make that happen.

But an unfortunate fact of life was that the consummation of marriage was also a legal matter. If Blaine let this go on much longer and Kurt devised a way to establish proof, their marriage could be dissolved, and Blaine couldn't let that happen.

They finally reached the door to Kurt's bedchamber, though Kurt did not think of it as his own, not with the ghosts that slept in it alongside him - ghosts that seemed to feel that he was not good enough to be lord of this manor, not good enough to be Blaine's husband. Kurt was a ridiculous figurehead in this house, a Count by name alone – a representation of obligation and duty, and nothing more.

Rachel was the actor in their family; Kurt didn't do half as well.

Blaine looked at Kurt, hoping for something hesitant but encouraging - a shy peek of eyes looking up at him, an alluring blush on Kurt's cheeks, another thrumming of his pulse through his fair skin, the subtle pinch of Kurt's lip between his teeth.

Kurt had his eyes glued to the floor beneath his feet, as if praying the ground would open wide and suck him under.

Blaine sighed.

"Well, then," Blaine said, turning the doorknob and opening the door. "Let's get the unpleasantries over with."

Kurt walked through the doorway, and Blaine hobbled in after him, closing the door behind them with a dull _click_. While Kurt stood at the foot of the bed with his head bowed, Blaine tried to conjure up those long ago dreams he had of deflowering this boy.

But Kurt was no longer a boy - a fact that became far too evident when he began the arduous task of removing his many layers. Blaine could tell by Kurt's labored breathing and the flush of color that had now spread from his cheeks clear down to his chest that he was not experienced either, as he had confessed. Kurt must have felt Blaine's eyes on him, felt his urgency, and tried to hurry. Kurt's fingers tripped over themselves as they worked through the many buttons on his waistcoat, and the more Blaine watched Kurt fumble with his clothes, the more Blaine became fascinated by the wash of color that had invaded his porcelain complexion. His waistcoat removed, and the top of his shirt undone, Blaine reached out to touch the rising and falling planes of Kurt's exposed chest. As Blaine's fingertips made contact with his smooth skin, the rise and fall stopped.

Kurt held his breath.

Blaine looked into Kurt's face. His eyelids had fluttered shut. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the bottom lip trembling slightly. Blaine smiled a sly, half-cocked grin. It had been a long time since the anticipation of his touch had garnered such a reaction from a man. He slid his hands onto Kurt's shoulders and turned him slowly to face away from him. He took up the task of undressing him, letting each garment drop one by one to the polished wood floor. Kurt let out a small gasp of surprise at the prospect of standing before this man in nothing but his bare skin. Blaine's nimble fingers had soon dispatched of Kurt's bothersome stockings, and all that stood between him and Kurt was the cool evening air. Blaine took the liberty to look up and down the smooth expanse of Kurt's flawless skin.

Blaine's body responded to Kurt - his pulse racing, his cock hardening - at the way Kurt's body seemed to invite Blaine to reach out and touch it. He ran his fingertips down Kurt's back, cupping Kurt's buttocks in his hands, delighting in the way Kurt shivered at his touch. He pulled Kurt against him so that Kurt could feel the effect he had on him. Blaine let his hands roam over Kurt's body, navigating at first his firm, muscular chest, then his taut stomach, and the heavenly juncture of warmth standing between his legs. Kurt jumped a little at Blaine's touch; from the feel of Kurt's skin on his lips Blaine knew Kurt was blushing anew, and probably enough to light the interior of the entire manor on fire. Blaine felt Kurt shiver, and the thought that he had made Kurt tremble was almost enough to finish him. Kurt turned to face him, but Blaine halted him with his hands firmly placed on Kurt's shoulders.

"No," Blaine whispered quietly. "Just like this." Blaine pushed Kurt gently so that he bent at the waist, leaning his upper body against the feather-down mattress of the bed. Blaine let him go only long enough to quickly undo the latches of his belt.

"You wish me turned away from you, my lord?" Kurt asked without turning back to face him.

"Yes, Kurt," Blaine said, muttering a quiet oath as he tugged at his stubborn shirt.

"But..."

"What is it, Kurt?" Blaine asked, focusing more on undressing than the timbre of Kurt's voice, which was threatening to break with quiet sobs.

"Isn't this the way that men take their...their whores?"

For the first time, Blaine looked down at Kurt, his beautiful husband bent over like a common trollop. No, this was not the way a nobleman took his husband, but what else could he do? He did not wish for Kurt to see his disfigurement, and he hadn't the strength to confess to Kurt that he could not perform this deed any other way.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

He could do it with Kurt sitting astride him, but that was too brazen.

Kurt wouldn't consent, and he definitely did not know how.

There was a rush in Blaine's body at the thought that someday Kurt might want Blaine to teach him, but now was not that time.

"Did not your mother explain these things to you?" he snapped, preoccupied with his boots and breeches. It was a line he had oft used to set quiet the tongue of many a fretful virgin, but once the words slipped from his lips, he wanted to bite out his own tongue. Burt had spoken to Blaine about the special bond his wife had had with his only son. Kurt had been devastated when his mother had passed on, that much Blaine remembered. Kurt was but a child, but he carried the pain of her loss his entire life. There had been no time for Kurt's mother to impart this knowledge to her children, and Burt – knowing what Blaine knew of the man – wouldn't have taken it upon himself to do so. There were always maids and the such, but that wasn't the point. How insensitive could Blaine be? Another look at his young husband showed Blaine that he was beset with tears, but trying hard not to let Blaine hear his soft sobs.

Blaine put his hands on Kurt's shoulders and brought him back up to stand against him.

"I am truly sorry, Kurt," he said softly. "How insensitive of me. I have no excuse for my behavior."

"I understand, my lord," Kurt said, his voice hollow.

Kurt's quiet resignation would have infuriated Blaine had he not acted like such an ass.

"In light of my behavior," Blaine began, "It would be perfectly acceptable if you…"

The kisses to his fingertips stopped the words in his mouth. He watched Kurt's perfect plush lips brush over the hand on his right shoulder – so soft, so innocent were their touches that Blaine never wanted them to stop. Blaine brought his left hand to his mouth and sucked on his index finger, then he dropped the hand down Kurt's back to part his cheeks and search out his entrance. Kurt's body shuddered when Blaine found the puckered hole and circled it slowly, the very tip of his finger dipping in as he prepared his young husband to accept him.

Kurt moaned at the sensation of Blaine's finger moving inside him, knuckle deep, and he fell forward, lazily laying out on the bed in front of him to give Blaine better access to his body. Kurt didn't understand what could make him surrender to Blaine like this. Bending over the bed, face down in the mattress, seemed dehumanizing when this began, but now he couldn't get enough of Blaine and his fingers (since he had added a second, and was scissoring them open and closed) working inside of him. He was sure he would be appropriately ashamed of his immodest behavior later on, but for now, his body burned to have more.

"You wouldn't happen to have any oil or anything of the like, would you?" Blaine asked in a staggered voice.

"I…" Kurt couldn't think clearly with Blaine's fingers deep inside him. "I have some olive oil in an ampoule on the vanity," Kurt said, pointing over by the window. "Over there."

"Olive oil?" Blaine asked, chuckling fondly as he removed his fingers from his husband's tight body.

"For my hair," Kurt said, whimpering at the loss of his husband, who walked across the room to find the oil. Kurt turned his head and watched him, not daring to stand from his spot on the mattress lest his husband change his mind about continuing. Blaine had removed his shirt, and the flickering candlelight in the room showcased all of Blaine's muscles – his shoulders, his arms, the long line of his back. Blaine looked more like he labored for a living instead of living the life of an earl. Looking at Blaine's body brought back memories of swimming in the lake, shirtless, sometimes completely down to their skin if the weather was hot enough or they simply didn't care. It was all so innocent back then, even when he did feel the stirrings of desire creep over his body, he told himself it was simply a normal physical reaction to looking upon someone so beautiful as he.

But there was more to it then, and there was more to it now.

Kurt turned away before Blaine returned, not sure how Blaine would react to finding his husband staring. Blaine knew that Kurt had no experience with men, but he didn't wish to seem like a complete ignorant.

Blaine's fingers returned, this time slick and warm, as if Blaine had drenched his fingers in oil, and then rubbed his hands together to heat them up. This new sensation of heat and wet had Kurt writhing on the bed at his husband's skillful touch, scratching the bed sheets and raising his ass up to meet his husband's fingers.

"Do you want me, my love?" Blaine whispered, reaching beneath Kurt's body with one unoccupied hand to stroke Kurt's cock, adding to the torture of wet heat controlling his body.

Kurt didn't have to consciously answer. His body did it for him.

"Yes, my lord," Kurt whimpered, straining his body to be closer to him while his knees knocked with the effort.

"Tell me you want me, Kurt," Blaine commanded.

"I want you, my lord," Kurt whined, powerless to obey. Kurt's name on Blaine's lips was the only command he needed to beg his husband to take him, to do with his body as he pleased.

"I want you, my lord," Kurt muttered, but he found that he meant it in a hundred ways. His body was hungry to have Blaine – there was no denying that. But Kurt wanted love, he wanted his husband, he wanted the daydream of his youth and all the hopes of his adulthood. He wanted all of these things with Blaine, but most of all, he wanted Blaine to love and want him back.

Desperately so.

"I want you," Kurt repeated. "I want _you_."

Kurt felt Blaine's hands slip away, and he almost cried out with the sadism of it. But Blaine's body returned, the press of his cock at Kurt's entrance causing Kurt to tense. He hadn't yet seen his husband naked, but he knew that the blunt member pressing against his hole was larger than his husband's fingers. There came a stretch and a burn - pure, searing heat tearing his body in two as Blaine slowly, _slowly_ , entered inside him. Kurt had gone completely still as he tried to manage the pain, but each small crawl made Kurt hiss and several times cry out.

"Shhh," Blaine hushed, running a hand down Kurt's back to soothe him, stopping when Kurt cried, giving him time to relax. "It's alright, my love," he said, gritting his teeth as Kurt's heat engulfed him, wanting to cry out himself at the agony of entering into this paradise so slowly.

Kurt's body became accustomed to the intrusion of Blaine's body into his; the pain began to dull, and then disappear. Kurt felt Blaine settle against him, their bodies flush together. With Blaine's cock stretching him, filling him, there was a relaxing sense of completion that overwhelmed Kurt – mind and soul. Blaine moved, the drag of his cock inside Kurt's body washing away the disquiet of the last four weeks, like sands wash away with the tides. Blaine's hands crawled over Kurt's back with gentle massages, alleviating the pain in his back that stretching his body caused. Blaine leaned forward slightly, making adjustments for his leg, reaching around Kurt's body to find his prize.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine moaned, his husband's cock heavy in his hand, his body tight around him, losing himself in the bliss of Kurt's heat.

Kurt edged closer and closer, and he began to feel it - that well of emotion that didn't come from the heat coiling in his stomach as his husband brought him to completion, but the feeling he once had for Blaine – of love and desire and honest affection. Blaine came with Kurt's name on his lips, leaning over Kurt's body and capturing his mouth, kissing Kurt sweetly...so sweetly, it was painful. Kurt moaned into Blaine's mouth, but before Kurt could think to reciprocate, Blaine pulled away. He left Kurt's body completely and began to dress.

"Well, this marriage has been consummated," Blaine said, his eyes turning hard once again for absolutely no reason that Kurt could comprehend. "I won't trouble you any longer."

Blaine turned, limping toward the door, traveling from bed frame to chair to table as he had left his cane downstairs. Kurt started to rise from the bed when he saw it – the sketchbook, knocked to the floor and open to the drawing of Adam, aside the nosegay, which had fallen from the table as Kurt had undressed.

Tokens of Kurt's affection for another man.

But had Blaine talked to him, if Kurt could make Blaine listen…

Kurt was afraid it might be too late, that he had lost his chance at winning Blaine's affections for good.

Oh, how delicate the pride and ego of a man!

Kurt knew it too well, since his own had as well been shattered.

Kurt was so distraught he could hardly stand it. He sat on the edge of the lonely bed and listened as Blaine's uneven footsteps retreated down the hall. Not until he was certain that Blaine had entered the confines of his own master bedroom and shut the door behind him did Kurt finally break down and weep. He laid his head against the cold comfort of the sheets and bedcovers that he would occupy...alone. How could this have happened? Kurt had grown into a man somewhat jaded and little possessed of any of the beliefs he once held about romance and love and fate. But the only hope he had always held dear was this; that a man would come along, sweep him off his feet, and marry him.

Now it had happened, and his beautiful dream was truly over.

* * *

Blaine sat up in his own four-poster, head throbbing, suffering the sleep of the just. A scuffling noise passing down the hall caught his attention. He listened as the soft footfalls of Kurt's maid descended the hall toward his chambers. Kurt must have rung for her. Blaine could tell the young woman's footsteps apart from the other servants in the house. He heard a small scratching on the oak door and the sound of the hinges as the door creaked slowly open. For a moment, before the door shut softly in its frame, he thought he heard the sound of muffled weeping. Intrigued and somewhat alarmed, he rose from bed, quickly affixed his false limb to the stump of his leg, and limped stiffly down the hall, trying with great effort to mute the sound of his wooden limb against the hard floor.

The door to Kurt's bed chamber had been left open just a crack, and Blaine peeked inside. In the dwindling candlelight, Blaine could make out the figure of the young maid, her hands folded solemnly in front of her as she gazed down at the crumpled figure of a man dressed in his night shirt.

"What happened, milord?" Marley inquired of her master as she sat beside him.

"I never thought...I did not believe..." Kurt's sobs made his laments nearly incomprehensible. Marley took a folded linen napkin from her apron and placed it gently in Kurt's cupped hand. Kurt sat upright slowly, patting his eyes dry with the small fabric square.

"Oh, Marley," Kurt sobbed. "I couldn't have imagined that he would be so...so...heartless." And with that final confession, he broke down uncontrollably. The young maid met her heartbroken master with open arms and held him in her embrace, running her fingers soothingly through his mussed hair.

Blaine had been called many things by a fair share of lovers - cad, incorrigible, cruel - and none of those names had penetrated his icy veneer. But for some reason, hearing the word _heartless_ spoken from Kurt's lips made his heart lurch into his throat. He backed away from the door.

But what did Kurt expect when his affections were occupied elsewhere?

It hit Blaine with an almost palpable smack to the brain. Kurt expected a husband. Maybe Kurt's affections would change if he had married a man who acted like one. Kurt knew none of Blaine's burdens, none of his angst. Kurt was not to blame for the position Blaine found himself in.

Blaine sighed. He put a hand to his head to stop it from thrumming and retreated back to his room.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a few minor injuries involving blood (scratches - one accidental, one sort of self-inflicted).

For the next few weeks, Kurt turned avoiding his husband into a profession. It wasn’t all that difficult a thing to do. Whatever _personal business_ Blaine kept tending to took him away from the house all day, almost every day, though he seemed to make it a ritual to be home by dinner. Because of that, Kurt joined him for the meal, even if he ate no more than a piece of bread or a morsel of fruit, simply to acknowledge Blaine’s effort. Kurt took to walking the grounds so extensively that he had to take in most of his pants and coats, since they started to hang loosely from his newly trim figure. The soft belly he had when he left his father’s house disappeared, and his legs became more muscular.

There still didn’t seem to be a place on the property that Kurt could hide from the pernicious tongue of Blaine’s awful manservant, Matthew, but Kurt had found himself immune to the man’s words now that his heart had hardened. This seemed to aggravate the man exceedingly. Soon his presence became no more important to Kurt than a fly on the wall or an ant underfoot.

The trees were beginning to change their coat of colors, and some of the more fragile roses lost their petals. The air nipped at Kurt’s skin when he walked, but that didn’t dissuade him. He would return to the manor house with his nose red and raw, and the skin of his hands chapped beneath his gloves.

By the evening meal, Kurt was quite exhausted and well lost in his own world. If Blaine watched Kurt while he ate, Kurt took no note of it. Since conversation was nonexistent, Kurt began to draw at the table. It didn't concern Kurt, but it had crossed his mind that if Blaine could have caught a glimpse of his newest work, maybe the misunderstanding between them would be set to right.

His bedroom still vexed him, and often times filled his mind with horrific dreams. One morning Kurt woke, his heart racing in his chest, his skin drenched with sweat, his mind filled with homesickness for his father and his sister, for the warmth of the hearth and the cozy pleasantness of his father’s house. He even missed his sister’s ridiculous maid, Kitty. Unable to return to sleep, Kurt put on his newly tailored day suit and a heavier coat, and stretched his legs earlier than usual, in search of something that might put his mind at ease. He had it in his mind and circled the gardens, covering a fair tract of the land, but it was nowhere to be found.

Kurt heard the crunch of dried leaves underfoot and put on his mask of impassivity, certain that Matthew had followed him in another attempt to rouse his ire. But the voice that struck his ears – mellow and smooth, and giving the impression of being unerringly kind – did not come from that rancorous source.

“Forgive me, milord,” it said, coming up behind Kurt carefully, “but I’ve been watching you wander around out here for the past hour or so, and I was curious if there was something in particular you were searching for?”

Kurt turned to the man who followed him, and smiled when he saw his face.

Kurt had only spoken to Sebastian a handful of times since their meeting. The man seemed to always be occupied with the trees in the meadow on the boundary of the property. Apparently they had fallen ill before Kurt had arrived, and whatever ailed them threatened the entire thicket. Those trees had been members of the Anderson clan longer than any family member had lived, and Blaine demanded that they be saved.

Kurt didn’t even know that a tree could catch ill, so the whole affair confounded him quite a bit.

Sebastian smiled at Kurt in a way that no other man had. Sebastian’s smile was as much polite as it was a touch inappropriate. Sebastian seemed to find Kurt appealing, and he had no problem with letting his expression show it, but Sebastian was a respectful man, who knew very well his place in the world. Therefore, he was simply content to watch Kurt as he walked and talk to him on occasion, but in another lifetime and another world, he would take his chance if offered.

“Pray tell, is there any wisteria on the property?” Kurt asked. “My mother had the most excellent tree. My father brought it home for her on one of his travels. She fought with that thing tooth and nail to grow, but now, it’s the most glorious thing.”

Sebastian grinned.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, pointing down the hillside, “I had a wisteria planted last spring, if you’d like to see it, milord.”

“Yes,” Kurt said, returning Sebastian’s grin. “Yes, I believe I would.”

After that encounter, Sebastian became Kurt’s constant companion as he strolled through the grounds in the early mornings, bringing him cuttings from all over the property that Kurt kept in a vase in his room. Sebastian had a habit of being open and honest with Kurt, with no qualms against telling Kurt exactly what he thought, almost without a filter – a habit Kurt hoped that he employed only in Kurt’s presence, since that practice could get him into serious trouble, especially with Lord Anderson.

“I don’t understand it, Sebastian,” Kurt divulged, looking down at the buds beneath his nose.

“What is there to understand, milord?” Sebastian asked as he worked hard at deadheading the roses, pruning some of the stems bare to prepare them for the upcoming winter.

“I just don’t know how to make him…like me. He has me – all of me…” Kurt admitted with a scarlet flush coloring his features. “He just doesn’t seem to _like_ me. He did once. I don’t know where on earth that affection has gone.”

“Well, he’s your husband, milord,” Sebastian said, gathering up the fallen rose heads and buds into his basket. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Kurt watched Sebastian shoulder his basket and huffed.

“Have you ever tried to talk to _Lord Anderson_?” Kurt asked.

“Aye, I have, milord,” Sebastian commented, moving to another area of bushes where the leaves had taken the cold quickly and begun to turn bronze. “And he is a stern man at that, but he has a good ear. But my concerns are not the same as yours, so if you want to be heard, you must _make_ him listen.”

“I am afraid that it might be too late.” Kurt looked down at his flowers, watching as the petals folded over one another and the blues changed in hue from dark to light at the base traveling to the tip. “I am afraid that perhaps he has finally lost all affection for me.”

“Has he turned you out of the house yet, milord?” Sebastian asked, switching his shears and working at carefully stripping the leaves.

“No,” Kurt said.

“Has he made any indication that he means to do so, milord?”

“No.”

“Then I believe you still have a chance,” Sebastian said, biting his lip as an errant thorn sliced through the skin of his knuckle.

“Oh, here,” Kurt said, pulling out his handkerchief and tending to the wound.

“Tis alright, milord,” Sebastian said, “I have a handkerchief myself. You don’t need to spoil yours.”

“Yes, and I’ve seen your handkerchief, if that’s what you call it,” Kurt chided with a shake of his head. “I’m surprised you haven’t caught typhoid by now using that thing. So you may hold on to mine and burn that thing in your pocket as soon as you are able.”

“Yes, milord,” Sebastian returned with an amused grin.

“Anyway, Lord Anderson has his reasons for not turning me out, and they have nothing to do with love or affection,” Kurt said, realizing a million times over that he should probably be more censored in his comments, but he couldn’t help it. Sebastian seemed to understand, in his own way, what Kurt was going through, and he always had an ear available to listen. Kurt might not always be the greatest judge of character, but he trusted Sebastian. He couldn’t see the man turning coat on him.

At least he hoped not. He needed a friend – one more other than Marley – that he could talk to.

“Well, what is it that you want from him, milord?” Sebastian asked, returning to the roses.

“I want to give him my love someday,” Kurt admitted quietly, “but I don’t think he’ll give me his in return.”

“Maybe he needs more than that, milord,” Sebastian said, avoiding another mixed bag of thorns before they could catch more of his skin.

“I have little else to offer,” Kurt griped. “What could I give him that I haven’t already?”

Sebastian turned his head and saw Kurt cradling the flowers lovingly in his arms. He bent to catch Kurt’s gaze and smiled.

“Time, milord,” Sebastian said. “Give him time. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve married a much better man than you give him credit for. Give him the opportunity to show you that.”

Kurt nodded.

“I’ll try,” Kurt said. “I’ll definitely try.”

* * *

 

Blaine watched from his office window as Sebastian brought Kurt a blossoming branch bursting with purple flowers. Kurt smiled when he saw it, holding it against his chest and thanking Sebastian with the most gracious bow Blaine had ever seen. It tugged at his heart as he watched them, and as spited as he felt watching Kurt give away another of his precious smiles to a man other than him, Blaine grinned. He imagined himself bringing Kurt a cutting of flowers, and having that smile aimed his way. Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? Why hadn’t he given Kurt flowers before?

The first flowers Kurt received at his new home came from the groundskeeper.

Blaine would throttle himself if he could.

When Blaine discovered that Kurt took his walks past the view of his office windows every morning, he locked himself away so he could sit and watch him. It used to be that Kurt wandered around the grounds alone, bending to smell the flowers, sitting in the grass and drawing in his sketchbook, sometimes taking a small picnic with his maid…or alone.

Blaine longed to join him – longed to sit outside on the grass and feed his husband olives while they talked about everything under the sun. But his stiff limb and the pain in his joints wouldn’t allow him to sit on the ground, and besides, now that Sebastian joined him every morning, Kurt seemed to have all the company he needed.

“Will there be anything else, milord?” Matthew asked as he gathered up Blaine’s plates from lunch.

Blaine kept his eyes glued to the couple walking through the roses, getting lost within the depths of the blooming buds as they spoke.

“Do they often spend time together?” Blaine asked.

“Who, milord?” The servant peered over Blaine’s shoulder at the scene of Kurt and Sebastian talking in the garden. Sebastian spoke and Kurt threw his head back and laughed. Blaine hit the glass lightly with his fist, and Matthew – irritated that his jeering no longer had any effect on Kurt - took notice.

“Oh, yes, milord,” Matthew said. “I often see them out along the paths together, laughing and talking, from sun up to sun down.”

“Sun up to sun down?” Blaine repeated.

Matthew saw the hurt in Blaine’s eyes, and a new plan to be rid of Kurt coalesced in his head.

“Yes, milord,” Matthew said. “They seem to quite _enjoy_ each other.” Matthew stood quietly at his master’s side and let his words sink in. “Will there be anything else, milord?”

“N-no, Matthew,” Blaine stuttered. “That will be all. I wish to be left alone.”

“As you wish, milord.” Matthew took the plates and backed out of the office, locking the door with a self-satisfied sneer.

* * *

 

“You sure do like to walk, milord,” Sebastian laughed, doing his best to keep up with Kurt as he sprinted up an unexplored hillside to the north of the property.

“I didn’t used to, to be honest,” Kurt said, chuckling as he sped up a little more. “I’ve gone through one pair of walking shoes already. They weren’t my best shoes by any stretch of the imagination, so I’m not that upset.” Kurt heard Sebastian panting behind him and sprinted the last leg of the hillside, reaching the top while Sebastian took a knee to catch his breath.

“That is it, milord,” Sebastian said. “You win, which is quite an achievement in those pants.”

“What’s wrong with my pants?” Kurt asked, turning around and looking himself over, trying to find the fatal flaw in his outfit.

“Nothing, milord.” Sebastian made his way up the rest of the hill. He crawled to Kurt’s feet and fell on his back in the grass, looking up at the clouds and sucking in deep breaths of air. “It’s just that they seem more suited to dining out than to taking a walk around the estate.”

“Any time is an opportunity to be fashionably dressed,” Kurt said. “I made these pants myself, I’ll have you know, and if I didn’t wear them to walk around the grounds, I wouldn’t be wearing them at all. It’s not as if my husband takes me to dine out. We receive invitations left and right, but he doesn’t accept a one. And we haven’t hosted a ball or a dinner since our arrival, which is considered to be appallingly bad manners.”

“Lord Anderson is a private man, milord,” Sebastian said, keeping his eyes fixed to the sky. “Since my employ, which has been many years, he has not hosted a single gathering, but he has his reasons.”

Sebastian plucked a wildflower from the grass and raised it to his face, picking at the narrow petals.

“What reasons are those?” Kurt asked meekly, knowing he was crossing the line of asking Sebastian to betray a confidence.

“Ah, I would tell you if I could, milord,” Sebastian said with a wink, “but alas, it is not my story to tell.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but he appreciated Sebastian’s loyalty to his husband.

He hoped to have it as well.

Kurt decided to do the genteel thing and swiftly changed the subject.

“If I had my choice of transportation about the grounds, I would choose to have a horse.”

“A horse, milord?” Sebastian asked with a grin.

“What?” Kurt said, mocking offense. “Are you saying you cannot see me atop a horse?”

“Not at all, milord,” Sebastian said. “I think you would manage a horse expertly. You’d probably drive the poor creature till it dropped of exhaustion.”

“As long as it keeps up better than you,” Kurt laughed. He turned in a circle and looked over the land rolling out in all directions beneath them. “I learned to ride just out there,” Kurt said, sitting in the grass and pointing to a spott in the distance. “Fell off the thing more than I stayed on at first, but the next day, I climbed on the animal’s back and rode and rode all day long. It took eight hands to catch me and pry me off.” Kurt sighed, seeing the memory of that horse gallop over the hillside as if it all happened yesterday. “I remember it felt so freeing, like nothing in the world could touch me. Nothing could hold me down.”

Sebastian looked at Kurt’s face, at the nostalgia painting his cheeks red and his eyes a brighter shade of blue.

“You know, there are many different ways to be free, milord,” Sebastian offered. “The life you have here may feel like a prison at times, but it can make you free, if you let it.”

“Yes?” Kurt raised a hand to wipe away a tear. “And how do I do that?”

Sebastian plucked another wildflower from the grass, rolled onto his stomach, and handed it to Kurt. Kurt took it from Sebastian’s fingers, gazing at the dainty white flower, which bent on its stem when another tear fell from Kurt’s eyes.

“Talk to him, milord,” Sebastian said. “Talk to him now.”

* * *

 

Lord Anderson was standing in the garden, pacing in front of the bare rose bushes, wringing the head of his cane in his fist, ready to greet his husband and groundskeeper when they returned from their afternoon walk.

Blaine saw the two laughing and talking as they headed down the path, all of which ceased the moment their eyes fell on him. Kurt’s eyes went wide with surprise, but Sebastian simply smiled pleasantly.

“Lord Anderson,” Sebastian said, bowing when he saw his ill-faced lord glaring murderously at him. “Is there something I can do to assist…”

“Please remind me, Mr. Smythe, why it is I hired you?” Blaine barked. “Was it to tend to the landscaping…” His eyes switched to Kurt’s blanched face, “or to my husband?”

Kurt gasped audibly at the insinuation in his husband’s tone.

“I am sorry, milord,” Sebastian said with another bow, “but you misunderstand…”

“I misunderstand nothing,” Blaine hissed. “Mr. Smythe, I want you off the property immediately.”

“As you wish, milord,” Sebastian said, brokering no argument. He bowed low to his master, and then to Kurt, whom he looked upon with sympathetic eyes. Kurt watched Sebastian turn and walk back toward the house while Blaine continued to glower at his ex-employee.

“No, my lord!” Kurt cried in a panic, folding his hands beneath his chin in a pleading gesture. “No! Please! You can’t…you can’t do this!”

“I can and I will,” Blaine said, turning in the opposite direction to take his leave.

Kurt’s mouth hung open with words choking to be heard, but they could find no way. He grabbed one of the rose branches, letting the thorns bury themselves in his palm until the pain forced him to speak.

“How, my lord?” Kurt cried after his husband. “How can you be so cruel?” Blaine stopped in the walk as his husband screamed at him. “He was my only friend here! My only friend!”

“Don’t be dramatic, Kurt,” Blaine snapped, turning clumsily on his heel, almost skidding on the ground. “You are a Count now. Why don’t you start acting like one?”

In his head, Blaine winced. He sounded exactly like his own dead father.

“A Count?” Kurt replied cynically. “I am no one here! I am barely your husband! I don’t run this household, your servants do, and you have servants in your employ that show me no respect!”

“You must earn their respect,” Blaine countered.

“How, my lord? How do I earn their respect? They take their cue from you, and you show me no respect, no compassion whatsoever!”

Blaine’s body shook in the face of Kurt’s anger, but his shoulders slouched.

“What would you have me do, Kurt?” Blaine asked, turning his face away so that Kurt wouldn’t see the weakness in his eyes.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak. He had a flurry of answers for that question.

_Give me a chance._

_Try to know me._

_Treat me like your husband._

_Defend me._

_Teach me how to love you._

But a sound in the distance – some commotion coming from the front of the house – suddenly caught Blaine’s attention. Without giving Kurt more time to answer, he turned back down the path he had come, rushing off with his cane in hand, and leaving Kurt with a clipped, “We’ll speak later. I need to go.”


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a minor injury involving blood.

There was a storm coming – a fall rain. Blaine could feel it in his joints and in his muscles. The wind blew right through him as the coat he was wearing wasn’t fit for this changing weather. But that hadn’t been his concern when he raced out to meet Kurt and Sebastian, when he jumped to conclusions, when he got it in his head that this man in his employ who had never once wronged him was out to steal his husband. Blaine rushed up the path from the garden with stiff, stunted steps, ignoring the pain in his hip as he headed for the front of the house. By the time he reached the walk, he could barely hold his back up straight, but he managed to seize hold of Sebastian’s horse just as he was preparing to depart. Sebastian turned his palomino, walking it down the path, but a weary Blaine came up alongside him and grabbed ahold of the animal’s bridle.

“Whoa!” Sebastian called to his horse when it whinnied and shook its head. “Hold still.” Sebastian secured the reins of the skittish horse and brought it to a controlled stop. His horse had always been a temperamental beast. He didn’t want the animal taking off, dragging Lord Anderson down the path behind it. “Milord!” Sebastian said, shocked at seeing the man hanging off his horse’s bridle. Sebastian leapt off his horse’s back to help the earl before he collapsed to the ground.

Blaine accepted Sebastian’s help, but begrudgingly, trying to secure his own footing and frowning when he found he couldn’t stand whatsoever without help.

“Mr. Smythe,” Blaine panted, breathless from the walk and the confrontation with the palomino. Blaine did everything to avoid eye contact with the man who looked at him curiously, “it seems that I may have been…hasty…in demanding that you go.”

Now was not the time for snarky smiles or snide comments, but it was a part of Sebastian’s nature, and he just couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Were you now, milord?” he asked, supporting the earl with an arm thrown across his shoulders.

“Yes,” Blaine said, his voice overly firm as he did not enjoy being made to look foolish by this young man. “I have changed my mind, and request that you stay. I offer you my deepest regrets for my error.”

Sebastian had half a mind to torment the cross man, but he knew that would most likely get him terminated again, and for sound reason this time. As he liked his job, he decided to be civil instead.

“I appreciate the apology, milord,” Sebastian said. “I would be more than happy to return to my position as groundskeeper, if that pleases you.”

“It does indeed,” Blaine said, taking hesitant steps with Sebastian’s help, “but first, I desire a meeting with you in my office, as I need to have a discussion with you.”

“Would you like me to put you on my horse, milord, and walk you back to the manor?” Sebastian offered, biting back a laugh at the image of hoisting the earl on the back of his palomino and leading him along like a child on a pony.

“I think I can manage, Mr. Smythe, quite well on my own,” Blaine said, standing bolt upright and limping away, knowing when he’s being teased. “Why don’t you stable your animal and meet me when you’re done.”

“Very well, milord,” Sebastian said, taking his horse’s reins and walking the animal away.

In their own way, at their own time, both men searched the garden for Kurt, but he was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

 

Blaine was standing at the window, staring out in search of Kurt, when Sebastian finally returned to the house.

“Sit down,” Blaine said when he heard Sebastian’s heavy footsteps enter his office, “and please, close the door.”

Sebastian did as he was told, shutting the door with a soft click and sitting in front of his master’s desk.

Blaine turned from the window and took his own seat, staring at Sebastian suspiciously. He had stopped him for leaving for Kurt’s sake, to keep his husband happy. Blaine was quite proud, but he was also willing to admit his mistakes when he made them. He had made a mistake in firing Sebastian; he saw that now.

But Blaine wasn’t quite convinced of Sebastian’s motives. Sebastian had never done anything to deceive Blaine before. The man was quiet, efficient, hardworking - all of these traits that Blaine held in high regard - but it may have just been that Blaine didn’t have anything that Sebastian wanted prior to Kurt moving in to the manor.

And who in the world wouldn’t want Kurt?

“What are you playing at, Mr. Smythe?” Blaine asked, folding his hands on his desk and moving his chair in closer.

“Playing at, milord?” Sebastian asked.

“I see you every day, talking with my husband,” Blaine began. “He has you in his confidence. He’s probably even told you things he has yet to reveal to me.”

Sebastian didn’t answer, keeping his expression neutral, only nodding a few times.

“I notice how you occupy so much of his time,” Blaine continued, pausing to give Sebastian an opportunity to explain himself, but he didn’t. “Tell me, what are your intentions toward him?”

“Intentions, milord?” Sebastian asked with a quirk of his lips. “I have no other intention but to be his friend. Lord knows he needs one.”

Blaine’s hackles rose at what he saw as an insolent response. He folded his hands tighter to remind himself to keep his temper.

“And what do the two of you do together…as friends?” Blaine asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We talk, milord,” Sebastian said with a smirk.

“Really?” Blaine said in a flat voice, his face sour. “And what is it that you talk about? That simpering fool that he adores so much?”

Sebastian’s smirk grew wide on his face.

“For once, you have hit the target right on the bull’s eye, milord,” Sebastian said.

“Really?” Blaine said, becoming more angry.

“Yes, milord, you have, since all he ever talks about is you.”

“I…excuse me?” Blaine jerked back, cut off from his rant by Sebastian’s remark.

“Yes, milord,” Sebastian said.

“What do you mean, he talks about me?” Blaine asked, sure he must be mistaken.

“I have no desire to break a confidence with your husband, milord…” Sebastian started.

“Yes, but he _is_ my husband,” Blaine interrupted, “and this _is_ my house, and the care of everyone in it is _my_ responsibility.”

Sebastian simply looked at Blaine with a challenging eyebrow raised.

Blaine blew out a breath of frustration, wondering if changing his mind about firing Sebastian was an intelligent idea.

“Let us say, hypothetically,” Blaine said, searching for a loophole to convince Sebastian to talk, “that my husband is unhappy, and I would very much like that to change. What do you recommend I do?”

Sebastian thought Lord Anderson’s question over carefully, trying to find the best way to answer him.

“Let us say that he _is_ unhappy, for argument’s sake, milord,” Sebastian said. “Can you possibly imagine why that might be?”

“He told me that he is nothing here,” Blaine mentioned. “He told me that the servants do not respect him. He said they do not respect him because _I_ do not respect him.”

“And what did you tell him, if you don’t mind my asking, milord?”

“I told him that he was a Count now, and to start acting like one.”

Sebastian chuckled dryly, dropping his head to stare down at the floor.

“You and your husband need to sit down and talk to one another, milord,” Sebastian said with a shake of his head. “You tell him to be a Count. But has he ever been a Count, milord? Who will teach him to behave the way you want him to behave? He would do whatever you asked, be whoever you wanted, if he thought it would make you…”

Sebastian closed his teeth around his tongue to stop himself from saying too much.

“If he thought it would make me…what?” Blaine asked.

Sebastian stared pointedly into Blaine’s hazel eyes.

“I think that you might know the answer already, milord,” Sebastian said, not intentionally being vague, but feeling dangerously close to revealing one too many secrets.

“He needs to be but himself,” Blaine said in exasperation, “nothing more than that.”

“That’s great, but have you told him that, milord?” Sebastian sat back in his seat. “What do you know about your husband, Lord Anderson?”

“I know quite a bit,” Blaine said, sounding defensive.

“And yet he is unhappy, milord.”

“What do you suggest?” Blaine asked with a shrug.

“He’s lonely, milord,” Sebastian said. “He misses his life, his passions.”

“What passions?”

“Fashion, for one, milord. It’s a hard thing to appreciate out here in the middle of the country. So, take him out on the town. Maybe buy him some new clothes.”

“I don’t want to _buy_ my husband,” Blaine protested.

“You are not _buying_ him,” Sebastian said, rolling his eyes. “Show him that you share his interests. It seems that he makes a great deal of his clothes anyway.”

“Does he?” Blaine said, impressed. “I knew he liked to sew, but…”

Blaine’s words faded as he remembered Kurt with his mother’s sewing kit, fixing Rachel’s doll, reattaching arms and replacing buttons eyes.

“You might also take him to see his friends and his family again, milord,” Sebastian added. “He feels trapped out here. Don’t treat him like your prisoner.”

“So, you think I should take him to London?” Blaine deduced.

“I think he would enjoy a break from all this quiet and solitude, milord.”

“But…but _he_ lives there.” Blaine dropped his head in his hands, ready to pull his hair out by the roots. “That baker. What do I do about him?”

Sebastian shrugged.

“There might be a small torch in the Count's heart still burning for that other man,” Sebastian said. 

Blaine raised his brow, wondering how much about it Sebastian knew, how much wasn't Kurt telling him.

“What should I do?”

“Ignoring him and being grumpy obviously isn’t doing the trick, milord,” Sebastian said, unable to resist the jab. “So try treating him like a prince. Woo him. Make him fall in love with you…” Sebastian leaned forward in his seat with a wicked glimmer in his moss green eyes, “and snuff out that small torch in his heart once…and…for… all.”

Blaine nodded his head, taking to heart everything that Sebastian had said. Blaine stared at his folded hands, calculating in his head, but Sebastian looked past him, out of the window, to where Matthew had stopped a crying Kurt and said something that made the man cry all the harder.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Sebastian said, standing and walking to the window, his fists balled as he watched Kurt dissolve into tears, “if you don’t mind me saying, milord.”

“Yes, what is it?” Blaine muttered, lost in thought.

“That sniveling manservant you keep in the house, milord? Matthew?”

“Yes, he’s an indentured man,” Blaine said offhandedly. “What of him?”

“If you want to keep your husband happy, I suggest that you pay off his indenture and remove him from the estate immediately,” Sebastian recommended, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

Blaine’s eyes snapped up from his hands.

“Why?” Blaine asked, standing to join Sebastian at the window. “What has he done?”

* * *

 

“Milord!” Marley called through the upper level of the house, trying to find her master. “Milord!” She knocked at his bedchamber, but when she got no reply, she raced into his parlor, where she found Kurt sniffling, engaged with a paper and quill pen, writing a letter to Rachel. “Milord!”

“Marley!” Kurt said, standing from his desk when he saw the frantic girl. “Marley! Wha---whatever is the matter?”

“It’s Lord Anderson,” she said, catching her breath.

“What of him?” Kurt asked, grabbing Marley by the arms. Last Kurt saw of his husband, he was just about fit to fall over. “What has happened? Is he alright?”

“Come to the window, milord,” Marley said with a giggle. “You have to see.”

Outside the house, the servants had gathered, rushing to the aid of their master, Kurt thought. He knew it. He had fallen in the path, he had broken his one good leg, he had hit his head and knocked something loose.

Kurt leaned out the window further when he heard his husband yelling, followed by the sound of rocks flying through the air and hitting something hard.

“You slanderous little troll!” Blaine screamed at full voice. Then Kurt heard a squeal of pain as a flying stone made contact with someone’s person. “If I had it in me, I would skin you alive and hang you from a tree!” Another rock went flying and its intended target stumbled into view. Matthew, his lip split and his nose already bloody – slipped and fell onto the manor steps.

“What?” Kurt gasped, watching his husband limp forward with an armful of stones, balancing against his cane, stopping long enough to take a stone from the crook of his arm, aim and fire. “We have to get downstairs, Marley! Quickly!” he said, pushing the girl out of the way, racing down the long staircase, and bolting outside.

“How dare you make such claims about a relationship that has no bearing!” Blaine screamed. “How dare you almost cost me my husband! I could have you imprisoned! I _should_ have you imprisoned! I should have you sent to the Americas!”

“But, milord…” Matthew started, receiving another stone to the forehead.

“I want you gone!” Blaine roared, dropping what was left of his stones and raising his cane. “I want you away from my property, away from my house, and away from my husband, you lying rat!”

Matthew stood on the steps, refusing to move, stunned into a stupor by the blow to his head, a thin cut oozing blood down his brow into his eye.

Blaine lifted his cane and tossed it like a spear. Maids screamed and ran out of the way with their arms raised above their heads. It sang as it sliced through the air, missing its intended target by only an inch.

“I said go!” Blaine bellowed. Matthew turned tail and ran down the road that led to the entrance. Blaine watched him till he was a speck against the green, running for all he was worth.

Blaine looked at the servants gathered, his eyes blazing with anger, burning them all with his glare.

“Now listen here,” Blaine announced, turning to see Kurt hurry from the house and come to a stop only a few feet away. “The Count is my husband,” he said, pointing at Kurt. “He is lord of the manor, same as I. You will all follow his commands and tend to his wishes as if they were mine, whether I am present or not, or so help me…” He swept his eyes around the array of aghast faces, waving his fist in the air. “I don’t care how long you have been in my family’s service. You will be dismissed in the same manner as Mr. Rutherford. Is that understood?”

The servants stared, nodding reservedly, and Kurt could tell by the looks in their eyes that they had never seen their master act out this way – wild and unrestrained. It was definitely in direct contrast to the man who had so carefully contrived the conditions of their marriage.

To Kurt, it was rather exciting to watch. Suddenly, every finger print that Blaine had left upon his skin, every touch of his lips on Kurt’s body, ignited all at once, and Kurt shivered despite the cold.

“Go fetch his cane,” Kurt said to Marley, sending her in search of the walking stick that had been sent flying.

Blaine turned to Kurt and tried to take a step, but Kurt put a hand up and ran toward him.

“My lord, are you quite all right?” Kurt asked.

Blaine looked at Kurt – at his face full of concern, at his eyes ringed red, at his lips tremulously trying to form a smile.

“I am well,” Blaine said, recapturing his sense of calm. “Thank you.” Marley ran up to them and offered Blaine his cane, dropping into a quick curtsy and standing back to give the two men their privacy. “And you, husband? How are you?”

Kurt turned to look in the direction Matthew had been run off, the man completely gone from sight.

“Better,” Kurt said with a relieved smile. “Much better, my lord.”

“Good,” Blaine said, nodding, setting his cane on the floor and leaning against it. “Splendid. I say, will you do me the honor of dining with me tonight?” Blaine asked.

Kurt furrowed his brow.

“I dine with you every night, my lord,” Kurt reminded him.

“Yes, I know,” Blaine replied, “but I will need your attention tonight to discuss a very important matter.”

“What important matter, my lord?”

“I need your input on a trip we will be taking,” Blaine said, offering Kurt his arm and smiling when Kurt took it. “We are going to London.”

 


	11. Chapter 10

It took two weeks for Blaine to arrange their trip to London – not because the arrangements were so extensive, however, but because now that he knew the truth, now that he was willing to make a few alterations to his attitude, now that he knew the path to Kurt’s heart, he wanted some time alone with his husband to make amends.

Time to make up for months of awful behavior.

Blaine started his days early, as per usual, but he put his personal business on hold for the time being and walked with Kurt in the mornings. He bade Kurt show him all of his favorite parts of the estate, and Kurt listened as Blaine told him the stories about his life that Kurt had yet to hear.

Not all of the stories, but the happy ones.

The birthday when Cooper’s new horse threw him into the lake.

The time a family of squirrels took up in the manor house and would not be removed.

The Christmas when his father’s favorite bitch of a hunting beagle gave birth on his mother’s imported rug.

Husband and husband ate their meals together instead of hiding away in their separate rooms. They even managed a picnic, seated on the white stone bench in the rose garden to accommodate Blaine’s stiff muscles.

They spoke together while they dined about speculations and ideas – places Kurt wanted to visit while in London, how his sister must be doing (since he had barely received six letters from her in all this time), how his father must be managing without his two children for comfort (since Kurt had only sent him one letter to ask about his health). It shamed Kurt to admit, since his anger at his father was a testament to his vexation about his match to Blaine.

Kurt had gone completely through his sketchbook, and this time – when Blaine made a request of his husband to look through its pages – Blaine found sketches of the gardens, the manor house, even a few of Sebastian tending to the trees in the thicket, but vastly more pictures of himself, sitting behind his desk in the office (though Kurt had not yet been in that particular room), in deep concentration over his dinner plate, reading in the library, and one portrait of him standing on the front steps of the house, cane in hand, top hat on his head, looking stately as he surveyed his property.

That picture he begged off his husband, and Kurt happily obliged.

And after dinner, before they turned in to their separate bedchambers (since they had not broached the subject of physical intimacy again just yet) Blaine walked Kurt up the stairs to his room, took up his husband’s hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed him good-night.

Soon, their trip to London was at hand, and Kurt could not find sleep. He wrapped himself in his thick blankets and squeezed his eyes shut tight, picturing himself attending the theater, dining out, walking the streets in his fine suits, all with Blaine by his side.

He realized that this trip would be nothing without Blaine there to enjoy it with him.

On the morning of their departure, Kurt took his breakfast up in his room while he tended to last minute details, and then met his husband outside at the carriage. Kurt was barely able to stand still long enough to climb inside the coach, excited as he was. He was dressed smartly in what looked to Blaine to be a brand new suit of his own creation. One of many, if Blaine interpreted correctly the number of nights Kurt spent awake in his room, laughing with his maid, talking about their trip, several times commenting on lengths of muslin, strengths of thread, and the amount of bobbins and pins in his possession. Blaine sat up in his room listening to them most of those nights when their voices carried clearly through the walls due to the total silence of the manor. They sounded so young, so carefree. Blaine had such a desire to be with them – to sit on Kurt’s bed while he sewed, to listen to them prattle on and on, to be in on their secrets and laugh at their jokes.

He comforted himself with the thought that maybe someday he would be. He had to have patience. This was to be a new beginning for them, and some things couldn’t be rushed.

After all, Kurt was giving Blaine the greatest gift he could ever give him – a second chance.

“So, what are we to do in London, my lord?” Kurt asked, bouncing on his bench with enthusiasm he could not restrain for the life of him.

“Well, there is plenty to do at this time of the year,” Blaine said, settling on the bench across from his husband, smiling secretively at Kurt and his maid. “There’s the theater to attend, the opera, museums…” Blaine looked down at his gloves, fussing with them unnecessarily in an attempt at appearing nonchalant, “but I thought perhaps we might host a ball…”

Kurt’s eyes brightened at his husband’s coy expression. Kurt turned to Marley, who smiled even brighter, the two holding each other’s hands and giggling like giddy children.

“A ball, my lord?” Kurt gasped. “You are not joking, are you? Please tell me you are not joking.”

“Not at all, husband,” Blaine said, idly tapping his cane on the floor of the carriage. “I would never joke about something as important as a ball.”

“Oh, you’re teasing me, my lord,” Kurt said with a pout.

“Only a little,” Blaine admitted with a grin, “but we will truly have a ball. Think of it as a belated wedding celebration.”

Kurt bit his lip and smiled.

“Thank you, my lord,” Kurt said. “This means so much to me.”

Blaine took his husband’s hand and raised it to his lips.

“You are most welcome,” Blaine said, laying a kiss across Kurt’s knuckles. Blaine made to return his husband’s hand to his lap, but Kurt held on a moment longer before the carriage lurched forward, the movement of the horses breaking the grasp of their joined hands.

* * *

   

Blaine’s manor in London was an extensive, multi-level apartment, right in the heart of the city. Kurt looked even more in awe of it than he had at the country manor house, Blaine thought, though that might have been because Kurt had never been to this apartment before. When they walked inside, Blaine was glad to discover that the apartment had already been aired, as he had requested, and fresh flowers brought in, set in vases that covered every table – roses, lilies, and several branches of blooming wisteria.

“Shall I take you on the grand tour, husband?” Blaine asked, offering Kurt his arm. Kurt did not notice for several moments, as he was staring at a mural on the ceiling – a beautiful rendition of a congregation of heavenly angels, sitting among the clouds, draped in robes of radiance and light, looking down among the members of the household, the mere mortals in their charge.

Kurt once again caught Blaine watching him with those distracting honey-gold eyes, warm and enticing - eyes that he found himself falling into more and more every time his husband looked his way.

“Yes, I would love a tour, my lord,” Kurt said, taking the offered arm and letting Blaine show him about the house.

Blaine took him first to the ballroom, where they would be hosting their first ball as a married couple the following evening. Kurt got excited simply looking at the room, unable to wait even one more day for the event.

“Do you like it?” Blaine asked, trying to interpret the look on Kurt’s face as he wandered about the room, taking a few experimental dance steps here and there across the smooth surface beneath his feet.

“It’s glorious, my lord!” Kurt gushed, his voice echoing throughout the room. “Oh, I haven’t been to a proper ball in so long, public or private.”

The words stung Blaine and he tried to shrug them off, tried to make them unimportant so that they didn’t color his mood. The reason Kurt had not been to a ball in a while was because of Blaine, and Blaine knew that full well.

“Why don’t we go to the top of the house and work our way down?” Blaine asked, his voice slightly clipped though he hadn’t meant it to be.

Kurt stopped his turn around the marble floor and looked at his husband, whose attitude seemed piqued.

“Of course, my lord,” Kurt said, paying it no mind, sure it was a side effect of the journey to town, and another pleasant though uncomfortable stay at that same inn that Blaine seemed to favor so strongly – The Rose and Crown it was called, or something like that. They walked through the music room on the way to the stairs when Kurt spotted a marvelous pianoforte tucked into the corner.

“Oh, my lord!” Kurt gasped, letting go of his husband’s arm and approaching it. “What a beautiful instrument!” Kurt had remembered there being a pianoforte at the manor house, but for some reason it had gone missing. Or maybe it wasn’t there at all? He was sure that Blaine had once played the pianoforte for him, and if memory served, he was quite a proficient. Kurt ran his fingers along the keys, plucking at one and flinching when the note came out flat. “Oof! The time for tuning is long overdue.”

“Kurt,” Blaine snapped, and Kurt stopped his fingers from hitting anymore keys.

“What is it, my lord?” Kurt asked.

“We don’t…I don’t…” Blaine stammered, looking uncomfortable, turning his eyes to the floor.

Kurt waited for Blaine to get his thoughts together, but his reaction puzzled Kurt.

“The pianoforte is off-limits,” Blaine commanded in a forceful voice.

“But…”

“I had forgotten it was here,” Blaine continued. “Had I remembered, I would have had it removed.”

Kurt tilted his head, trying to ascertain the source of Blaine’s discomfort. Why would this instrument vex him so? But Kurt had just begun to win Blaine back, and he had no wish to discourage his affection, so Kurt backed away from the pianoforte.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Kurt said, humbling himself to his husband as much as possible without sounding condescending. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Blaine looked into Kurt’s eyes – his guileless blue eyes, full of so much want and a need for acceptance…Blaine’s acceptance.

“Tis no intrusion,” Blaine said with a half-smile, patting Kurt’s hand when he took Blaine’s arm again. “You did not know. I could not expect you to. You were much into music, were you not? Singing, I believe.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kurt said, allowing himself to be led out of the room and back through the house. “I quite enjoy singing. My mother taught me when I was very little.”

“Well, you must sing for me while we are here,” Blaine said.

Kurt smiled at the request.

“I would love that, my lord.”

Blaine took Kurt up to the top level of the manor, a level that might have been an attic but was converted into a single room.

“Is this…a nursery?” Kurt asked, scrunching his nose at the glum look of the room – dark and dreary with little light afforded it by any window. The walls were a dark blue and the floors wood, with a round rug set in the center. It smelled like dust and mildew, and even with its crib in the corner and toys scattered over the floor, the room looked entirely miserable.

“It is,” Blaine affirmed, kicking at a block near his feet and watching it tumble across the floor.

Kurt turned to Blaine with a look of disgust.

“Did you used to play here, my lord?” Kurt asked.

“I did,” Blaine said, and Kurt put a hand to his mouth in shock.

“Oh, Bl---my lord,” Kurt corrected himself. “It is so…depressing.”

“Yes, well, my father felt that children should be seen and not heard,” Blaine explained. “And not seen, if at all possible.”

Blaine looked at Kurt, his thoughtful expression drawing his brows together.

“You know, I give you permission to call me by name…”

“My lord!” Kurt gasped, scandalized at the idea of addressing his husband so familiar.

“At least, when we are alone, Kurt,” Blaine said, trying to tempt him. He wrapped an arm around Kurt’s waist and held his husband tight against him. “I would like to hear you call me by my name.”

Blaine slid his lips along Kurt’s mouth, trying with soft kisses to coax the name out of him.

“I…” Kurt tried to object, but Blaine kissed him more insistently, slipping his tongue across the seam of Kurt’s lips.

“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine whispered into his mouth. “Call me by my name.”

Blaine’s mouth moved down Kurt’s chin to his neck, his hand holding the side of Kurt’s head gently so that Kurt couldn’t escape the caress of his lips.

Kurt’s eyes fell closed, his lips parted, the heat of Blaine’s mouth on his skin too impossible an enticement to withstand.

“Oh,” he muttered, his mind swimming from the touch of Blaine’s breath on his neck. “Oh…oh, Blaine.”

“There,” Blaine whispered, running his tongue in circles on Kurt’s skin, “was that so difficult?”

Kurt swallowed hard as Blaine left him with one last kiss before pulling away.

Kurt smiled, putting his hands to his cheeks to hide his blush, but Blaine took his wrists and pulled his hands down.

“Do not hide your face from me,” Blaine whispered.

Kurt found it hard not to duck his head from view as the blush on his face grew deeper in color, but he promised, “I won’t, my lord.”

Blaine frowned, but still gazed at Kurt with a playful fire in his eyes.

“Shall I show you to your bedchamber, _my lord_?” Blaine asked, taking Kurt’s arm again.

Kurt’s shy smile fell at the sound of that title on Blaine’s lips, the way the words jeered at him.

“Why do you call me that?” Kurt asked quietly.

“Because you are a Count,” Blaine said, “and thus makes you a lord.” Blaine’s eyes became dark and sinful as he explained. “And I must admit, I kind of like calling you that. So, if it pleases you, my lord Count, may I show you to your bedchamber?”

“You may, my lord Earl,” Kurt said, chuckling at how absurd it sounded.

Blaine led him back down the stairs, away from that dismal nursery, to the level below where the bedchambers were.

“This room,” Blaine said, opening a door, “will be your room.” Kurt took a step inside. It was definitely again the countess’s old bedchamber, with the same feminine touches as the other manor room – the same four-poster bed shrouded in gossamer curtains, the same dark wood wardrobe with delicate scroll work - but this room was smaller in size, and much less of a shrine to her ladyship’s memory. “Does this room suit you?” Blaine asked. “I chose it because it directly abuts mine.”

Kurt smiled so wide it took up his entire face.

“It does, my lord,” Kurt said. “It does.”

Blaine searched Kurt’s eyes and saw how genuinely pleased he was.

It gave Blaine cause to hope.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter includes an explanation into how Cooper died which might be bothersome. If you don't want to read it skip from the first bolded word to the next bolded word.

“So, how goes wedded bliss, Lord Anderson?”  Lord de Bourg asked, greeting his host with a raised glass.

The ball had been an overwhelming success, with everyone who had been invited – even at short notice – in attendance, along with a few members of society that Blaine had never seen before in his life. This was Lord Anderson’s first ball in ages, and the first introduction of his new husband into society besides. An invitee to this event would have to be dead to turn down such an invitation. There was no other intelligent excuse to decline.

“I must say, your husband is rather winning, my lord,” Lady de Bourg added. 

“You think so?” Blaine asked proudly, glancing around the room to catch a glimpse of his husband. “Have you met him? I did not see him come down.”

“We just now had the pleasure,” Lady de Bourg replied. “Rumor has it that he made that splendid suit that he’s wearing himself. Is that true?”

“It is,” Blaine said with a smug grin.

Blaine scanned the room until his eyes settled on Kurt, dressed in a suit of midnight blue, speaking to the rapt attention of an intimate circle of lords and ladies, each hanging on his every word. His sparkling blue eyes lighted on each face with a genuine sincerity rarely seen in lords of his station, especially in the younger, more affable ones. His smile lit up his corner of the hall, and eventually, his was the only face that Blaine could see. A glow surrounded Kurt - a gold wash from head to toe. It drew everyone around him toward it like the moon called the tides. And now, it had finally ensnared Blaine. Kurt turned and caught Blaine’s gaze. A small blush dotted his cheeks - an indication that he had noticed Blaine’s attentions. It delighted Blaine to know that he could make his husband blush like that. Kurt smiled shyly before returning to his admirers, each vying for his audience.

“Lord Anderson?” The baron’s voice snapped Blaine back from his husband’s magic spell. “Lord Anderson, are you all right?”

“Hmm, yes, right,” Blaine recovered. “What was that again?”

“I _said_ ,” the baron remarked, sharing a knowing look with his wife, “your husband will have the whole of London eating out of his hand before long, but I can see by the look on your face that you know that already.”

Lord de Bourg clapped Blaine on the shoulder as he started to lead his wife away.

“It’s nice to see you finally settle down, Lord Anderson,” Lady de Bourg said with a curtsy, hiding a chuckle behind her fan as she followed her husband away.

Blaine moved through the crowd, not paying mind to the numerous lords who approached with commentary on this matter or that, or other random faces that smiled and congratulated him as he passed by. All he could see before him was that heavenly golden light and the handsome face it surrounded. Weaving through the crowd of his entourage, Blaine walked over to Kurt and offered him his arm.

“My lord,” Kurt greeted Blaine warmly, the blush returning to his cheeks. “Have you come to offer me the Andante?”

“No, my lord,” Blaine replied, his usually collected voice edged with a raw desire that Kurt detected even as those around them did not. “I have come to offer you something else, if you would permit me.”

The blush that warmed Kurt’s face spread down his neck, heat pooling in his stomach, and then traveling further down between his legs. Unable to speak, he simply nodded, not even finding the voice to excuse himself from the crowd.

“Please, excuse us,” his husband offered in his stead as he led Kurt through the hall.

“You do not wish to dance, my lord?” Kurt asked, his head bowed to hide his sheepish smile.

“At the moment, I have not the heart or mind to dance,” Blaine said, unwilling to take his eyes from Kurt’s face. The downward pout of Kurt’s lips and the under-turn of his long, lush lashes intrigued Blaine. Blaine wanted to sweep Kurt up in his arms and kiss him there in front of all present, but Blaine waited, lingered in the moment of Kurt’s demure glance, biding his time, challenging his own resolve.

Blaine had thrown up so many barriers between himself and his husband. Ever since the loss of his leg, Blaine had never seen himself as a match for anyone. He had felt no affection for those who had taken his coin in exchange for pleasure. He knew that if there was one person who could make him even remotely happy, it was Kurt.

He was right. Looking at Kurt now, it was as if he were laying eyes on him for the first time. His heart swelled with the knowledge that Kurt was his - that they belonged to each other.

Blaine sneaked Kurt up the stairs to Kurt’s bedchamber, showing no concern for the few stares that followed them.

“Blaine!” Kurt scolded in a whisper when they were out of earshot of the other guests.

“Ah!” Blaine said, turning at the door. “I like that. Hopefully you will call me that a lot when we are inside…” He leaned close, letting his lips barely graze Kurt’s mouth. “Hopefully I’ll give you reason to say it over and over and over… “Blaine opened the door behind him and dragged his husband into the room.

“My lord,” Kurt said, objecting half-heartedly when Blaine began to undress him. Blaine did not stop, taking great care with Kurt’s garments, setting them over the back of a chair so as not to ruin them. “My lord, I…”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Blaine said, working his way into the rear of Kurt’s underclothes to cup his buttocks. “If you continue to address me as such, I will be forced to spank you.”

Kurt looked shocked, but then his face morphed into a more sportive veneer.

“And is that how you maintain your title, _my lord_?” Kurt asked cheekily. “By making promises that you don’t keep?”

Blaine countered Kurt’s amused expression with a dark one, and grabbed his husband firmly about the waist.

“What!?” Kurt cried. “No…Blaine!”

Even with the fault in his leg, it took only a second for Blaine to drag a giggling, struggling Kurt to the bed, sit down, and throw Kurt over his knee. In this position, Kurt could feel Blaine’s hard, unforgiving false limb digging into his stomach, but he made no mention of it, not wishing to embarrass his husband, especially when he was behaving playfully.

“Now, shall I tug your pants down and bare your bum like the spoiled brat you are?” Blaine threatened. “Or do I leave them up and give you some semblance of dignity?”

“Blaine!” Kurt whined as he wiggled to be free, only to be pushed back into position by the flat of Blaine’s hand. “I apologize. I was wrong. Please accept my sincerest regrets for doubting your integrity.”

Blaine carefully peeled down the back of Kurt’s pants over the rounded crest of his buttocks as Kurt rambled, rubbing his palm over the smooth skin of Kurt’s rear. Blaine heard Kurt stop speaking mid-sentence and gulp hard.

“Such pretty words,” Blaine muttered as he continued to massage Kurt’s buttocks with his palm, “but a much prettier behind…”

“Blaine!” Kurt squealed.

“So pale…your skin is so pale,” Blaine murmured. “I would much rather see it pink.”

“Blaine!”

Blaine pulled his arm back quickly and swatted his husband on the behind with the flat of his palm.

Humiliation sparked in Kurt’s body at that single strike, but it was gone in an instant, and the sensation it left in its wake was indescribable. It pinged around in his body like a shock of lightning, and then settled straight in his groin, making him immediately hard.

Blaine seemed to know it, too. If he didn’t, Kurt had stopped struggling to get away. That was probably a clue.

“Shall I do that again, husband?” Blaine asked, his voice carrying hints of his smug grin.

Kurt finally remembered himself, remembered that he shouldn’t be enjoying this debasing act, and struggled furiously.

“Certainly not, you horrible fiend!” Kurt blustered. “How dare you spank me? I am your husband!”

“Whom else would I spank?” Blaine asked and swatted Kurt’s behind again, this time a little harder.

Kurt’s balls and cock rubbed along the inside of his pants, which were pulled tight by his position bent over Blaine’s lap. Try as he might, he could not contain the resulting moan the friction caused.

“So you sincerely wish for me to stop?” Blaine asked, spanking Kurt again, feeling Kurt tremble as he tried to contain his moaning. Blaine reached around Kurt’s waist and took hold of his cock, which throbbed and bucked at his touch. “I think you may be enjoying this a little more than you let on.”

“Stop,” Kurt squeaked out unconvincingly. “Stop now or I shall never forgive you.”

“Well, I can’t have that,” Blaine said, leading Kurt gently onto his stomach on the bed. “Maybe I can figure out a way to make it better?”

“I don’t…I don’t see how,” Kurt commented in a wavering voice.

“Maybe if I made love to my husband,” Blaine said, his voice sultry as he undressed, “he might forgive me?”

“I guess that…it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Kurt offered, getting up on his knees, preparing to sit on the bed and watch his husband while he undressed, but Blaine caught him by the shoulders again the way he had before.

“But, my lord…” Kurt beseeched with hurt in his voice.

“I would like to make love to you this way, Kurt,” Blaine explained, preferring to shield himself in the safety of a white lie. Blaine would love to lie back and have Kurt ride him, to look into his husband’s eyes as he came, to see his smile of contentment, but Blaine couldn’t reveal himself to Kurt – not quite yet. “It gives me a chance to glory in your entire body.” As if to prove his point, he let his hands roam freely over Kurt’s back and shoulders, tracing the patterns of Kurt’s muscles with his fingertips. He watched as Kurt abandoned his bruised feelings, letting his head drop forward on his shoulders.

Blaine bent Kurt forward over the bed, testing Kurt’s willingness to allow Blaine to take him in this way. Kurt complied, stretching his arms out in front of him on the bed, allowing Blaine full and unguarded access to his body.

Blaine made short work of his own clothes. In his eagerness to school his young husband in the ways of pleasure as he preferred them, Blaine slowly lowered Kurt’s pants the rest of the way, pulling them carefully off his legs. There Kurt lay, naked before him. Only his hose, pulled to his calves, remained. Blaine ran a finger between Kurt’s cheeks and felt an undeniable shiver course down Kurt’s leg. It seemed to travel down Kurt’s leg and up Blaine’s arm, causing his hand to shiver as well. He parted Kurt’s legs and ran his hands up the incline of his inner thighs, falling short of his balls, which hang loosely there.

The sound of Kurt’s delicate moans chipped away at Blaine’s resolve.

“Kurt…do you have any…”

“There,” Kurt pointed, unwilling to move as long as Blaine kept touching him.

Blaine laughed lightly as he followed Kurt’s direction, finding the same ampoule sitting on the dresser among other bottles and jars of various liquids and lotions that Blaine made a note to investigate later, as they all looked and smelled so intriguing.

He probably should have gone slower, taken his time, but it had been so long since that first time they had shared together – that first time in paradise – that Blaine couldn’t wait, and from the way Kurt balled his fists and pounded them on the bed, it seemed that maybe Kurt didn’t want to be kept waiting either.

“What do you want me to do to you, my love?” Blaine asked, coating his fingers with oil and exploring the circle of muscle around Kurt’s entrance. “Should I put my fingers inside you? Should I open you up and keep opening you up until you beg me to make love to you?”

“D-do you need to hear me beg, my lord?” Kurt asked, letting out a long, sustained moan when Blaine slowly pushed one finger into his body.

“Of course not, my love,” Blaine said. “All you need do is ask.”

“Blaine?” Kurt said between prolong moans from Blaine’s sublime torture. It took him a minute to form the words together, adrift on this wave of ecstasy the Blaine kept him floating on. “Wou---would you make love to me?”

Blaine pushed his finger in and out of Kurt’s body, dragging slowly, crooking inside until he found a spot that made the breath catch in Kurt’s throat and his entire body shudder.

“Blaine!” Kurt moaned, pulling at the covers on his bed, moving against the mattress, trying to find friction for his cock amid Blaine’s heavenly ministrations.

Blaine wanted to make love to Kurt, more than anything, but Kurt’s body was so exceptional, so engrossing in the way he moved and arched and whined. Never before had Blaine had such a man at his disposal, except in his dreams.

And even then, that man was Kurt.

But not a single dream he had could rival this.

“Alright, my love,” Blaine relented, pulling his fingers from Kurt’s body, almost fumbling the ampoule of oil as he coated his fingers further and used them to lather his cock.

“Blaine…” Kurt whimpered, rutting against the mattress.

“Patience,” Blaine said, stopping for a moment to appreciate the sinewy movements of his husband’s body as fucked himself against the bed. “I’m moving as fast as I can.”

“You said…you wanted…to hear me…say your name,” Kurt panted, stopping when he felt Blaine put hands on his hips to hold him still.

“That is true,” Blaine said, “but wait until I am inside you, my love, or this may not last long.”

“Do you like to hear me say your name, my lord?” Kurt asked innocently.

“You know that I do,” Blaine said, moving slowly, in and out, first just the head of his cock, and then deeper and deeper as his husband spread himself open to accept him.

“Blaine,” Kurt uttered, hiding his small gasps of pain within the shelter of Blaine’s name. “Oh, Blaine…”

Blaine’s fingers slipped around the flesh of Kurt’s hips as he tried to take hold. His left hip ached as this bed was lower than Kurt’s bed at the countryside manor, and he felt himself slipping as he tried to maintain his pace.

Kurt felt the shift in Blaine’s stance, heard the way he cursed under his breath. Kurt lifted his ass higher, pushing back to meet his husband, trying to take the burden off of Blaine to do all the work.

“Kurt!” Blaine gasped when he saw Kurt maneuver to help him, his knees going weak when Kurt took the initiative to pound himself back on his husband’s cock.

“Blaine!” Kurt groaned, arching his back like a cat and moving faster, begging to cum. Blaine was helpless to do anything but watch. The sight of Kurt, pounding against him, taking pleasure from Blaine’s body, made Blaine dizzy. Blaine had seen himself as broken for so long, that sex had become little else than blowing off steam. But this, this was a gift.

“Yes, Kurt,” Blaine mumbled, his fingers tightening their grip around Kurt’s hips. “Yes, just…just do that…Kurt…”

Blaine’s voice was fading, his body going rigid as he started to cum, and it filled Kurt with a feeling of power. Kurt was in control of this incredible man – a man that people feared and respected. Blaine had sense enough toward the very end to reach out a shaking hand and stroke Kurt’s cock. It didn’t take much. In fact, Blaine’s whimpers in Kurt’s ears did more than those few strokes – the way his strong voice broke as he chanted Kurt’s name, and how those chants became grunts as his body failed him.

Kurt came over Blaine’s fist – hard and hot – until it felt like everything within him had bled away and he hadn’t any strength left. His knees slipped out from under him, and his legs quaked.

“Stay right here, my love,” Blaine said, pushing away from Kurt’s body. “Let me get you cleaned you up.”

“I can…”

“Please?” Blaine asked. His voice sounded small, and Kurt knew what he was really asking. Please, don’t turn around. Please, don’t look. Kurt sighed and stayed still, convincing himself that he probably couldn’t have gotten up off the bed even if he tried.

“Alright, my lord,” Kurt said.

Kurt felt more vulnerable waiting for Blaine to do this then he did spreading himself open for Blaine to make love to him. It seemed more intimate in a way. Kurt wanted to help, wanted to be a part of it.

He wanted Blaine to trust him with this secret.

“Will you ever tell me how you lost your leg, my lord?” Kurt asked, not eager to spoil such a beautiful evening by pinning Blaine to a topic he’d rather not discuss, but not knowing caused Kurt more distress than he had ever imagined.

Kurt felt Blaine run a wet cloth down his body, paying special attention to his rear, covered in his husband’s cum.

“I lost it on the same night that I lost my brother,” Blaine said plainly.

Kurt had imagined a bunch of awful scenarios connected to the loss of Blaine’s leg, but this he would have never guessed.

“I am sorry,” Kurt said.

“It’s all right, my love,” Blaine said with a gentle kiss to Kurt’s neck – just a brush of his lips, but it filled Kurt with such warmth that he felt fit to melt into the mattress. He could have drifted off to sleep, but he stopped himself, too intrigued by the tale Blaine had to tell. 

Blaine helped Kurt up onto the bed, and then climbed up behind him. They lay uncovered – Kurt undressed, and Blaine in his pants and stockings to cover his false limb. Blaine held Kurt in his arms and closed his eyes, drudging up the dreadful memory.

“My brother, Cooper, was called upon to fight an honor duel. There’s a long story behind that, and now is not the time to tell it…”

Kurt nodded, snuggling back into Blaine’s embrace.

“I went along as Cooper’s second and his witness,” Blaine continued, kissing Kurt on the shoulder to fortify his voice. “We arrived at the agreed upon place, but there was no one there. We waited. It became dark. We were about to leave…” Kurt could feel Blaine’s arms shake, and he put his hands over them and held him. “Instead of a duel, it was an ambush. Men jumped us from all sides – men wearing dark cloaks and armed with swords…and **torches.** We fought, but there were too many men…just too many.” Kurt felt a tear roll down his shoulder, but Blaine’s voice never wavered. “They set Cooper on fire,” Blaine said, and then he paused, grinding his teeth together. Kurt turned in Blaine’s arms and put a hand to his wet cheek.

“You don’t have to…”

Blaine took Kurt’s hand in his and kissed his palm.

“I tried to snuff the flame out,” Blaine said, “but it caught on my clothes. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stand the pain. I dropped to the floor to roll the flame out, but I saw them coming for me.”

 **Blaine** sniffled, dropping his head. Kurt kissed Blaine’s forehead. He kissed him over and over. There was nothing else for Kurt to do – no way to bring Cooper back or to erase this memory.

“They would have killed me, too,” Blaine said quietly, “and I…I was afraid. I was a coward, Kurt.”

“No,” Kurt said, gathering Blaine in his arms, running his fingers in Blaine’s hair. “You weren’t a coward. You are human.”

Blaine shook his head, unwilling to let Kurt comfort him or explain his shame away.

“But I ran,” Blaine said. “I left him alone…”

Kurt wanted to point out that Cooper was most likely already dead, but that realization would not help Blaine now.

“I jumped on my horse…I ran for my life…”

“And thank God you did,” Kurt said, holding Blaine’s head up and looking into his husband’s eyes, “because you came back to me. You came back to me, and now I get to have you.”

Blaine kissed him, taking comfort from Kurt’s lips, but Kurt felt a grief rise within him, too great to put a name to. Cooper had been so kind, so fair. He was always trying to make them laugh. He loved to act, and loved to tease. He would arrange performances for all the children – with himself taking all the prime roles. He was an incurable flirt. He was way too gentle a human being to die such a horrific death. He had no wife, no children, no one aside from his brother to grieve him and no one to carry on his legacy. It was a waste - such a terrible waste. Kurt shut his eyes against the image that blossomed from Blaine’s words of poor Cooper set ablaze, and Kurt couldn’t help the hiccup of grief that escaped his lips. Blaine opened his eyes when he felt Kurt’s lips quiver.

“It was long ago, my love,” Blaine whispered, his voice fighting through the haze of Kurt’s nightmare to soothe a suffering Kurt had no need to feel. Blaine cursed himself for being so blunt with him. “But that has been the nature of my personal business, if you have a want to know. I have been tracking down leads, trying to find his killers. I have brought Bibles of information to the authorities, but after so long a time, they refuse to take part in my investigation.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said again, finding there was nothing more he could say. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Are you enjoying the ball so far, my love,” Blaine said, shifting topics so swiftly that it nearly made Kurt’s head ache. Blaine changed positions, lying back with his head against the pillows, pulling Kurt to lie on top of him, needing to keep his husband close and think on pleasanter things.

“Yes, my lord,” Kurt said, wiping away what remained of his tears and trying to follow Blaine’s train of conversation. “It is quite wonderful.”

“You seem to be a hit tonight, if I daresay,” Blaine said, tapping Kurt on the nose with his finger. “I have heard so many things about you. I believe you have captured the hearts of all of our guests.”

“Talking about enjoying ourselves,” Kurt purred contentedly as he rested his head against the broad muscles of his husband’s chest. “How does one get as good at that as you?”

“I don’t think I had much part in it this time,” Blaine laughed, causing Kurt to blush.

“I’m being serious,” Kurt said.

“You think I am good at that?” Blaine asked, running his fingers through Kurt’s hair. Blaine had received many accolades on his proficiency in bed before, but somehow hearing the words from Kurt’s lips filled him with a surge of pride he had never known.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well, the only way you get good at it is practice,” Blaine teased with a coy smile.

“Really?” Kurt said, trying not to let that bother him. Kurt toyed with his lower lip, pinching it between his teeth as he gazed up at his husband. “Have you had much _practice_?”

“Excuse me?” Blaine laughed.

“Practice?  Have you had much practice doing this?” Kurt emphasized with an all-encompassing gesture of his hand.

“By this,” Blaine teased, repeating the same gesture, “I would assume you mean make love.”

“Of course,” Kurt said, playfully slapping away Blaine’s taunting hand.

“My love,” Blaine began, posing a look of mock seriousness, “that is usually not a question a gentleman answers.”

“I am sorry,” Kurt said, turning away in embarrassment and silent reproach.

“Well, have _you_ , my love?” Blaine asked, patting Kurt’s sore backside.

“Have I what?” he muttered over his shoulder.

“Had much practice at this?”  Blaine reached over to wave his hand before Kurt’s face, again mockingly repeating the same gesture.

“Of course not,” Kurt slapped at Blaine’s hand. “Never. I told you I haven’t. But then again, _husband_...”  Kurt said the word with appropriate emphasis, “I am not the one who made boastful retorts about my abilities in bed. What was it exactly that you said, let me think - some…a lot…but who remembers names and faces?”

Blaine grabbed Kurt by the wrists, holding Kurt’s arms above his head in one hand as he tickled his husband playfully about the ribs. He smiled at the way Kurt squealed and gasped for breath, but made no real effort to break free.

“Alas,” Blaine teased with a contented sigh as he finally released a giggling Kurt, “as I try to remain to the last a gentleman, I cannot deign for you a number.”

“Not even an estimate, my lord?”

“Nay,” Blaine laughed. “Not even that. I am a rogue, like any and all unscrupulous English gentlemen.” Kurt rolled his eyes and looked away. “But I can tell you this...” Blaine reached out a hand and turned Kurt’s head back to face him. “Never before have I cherished the act, but I cherish it with you.”

Kurt bowed his head, a heated flush rising to his cheeks. Blaine smiled at his innocence, even now as Kurt lay naked on top of him, the bed sheets crumpled about them. He crooked a finger beneath Kurt’s chin and lifted Kurt’s face to meet his.

“No one I have ever met since you and I parted has captured my heart. And you have done so, my lord. Quite completely.”

Kurt pushed himself up Blaine’s chest and kissed his chin. Blaine wrapped Kurt in his embrace, rolled him over, and claimed his mouth deeply. Kurt was breathless by the time Blaine released him, but it still was not enough for Kurt. But there were things on his mind he needed to know, and since Blaine seemed so receptive to queries, Kurt leapt at the opportunity.

“Permit me another question, my lord?” Kurt asked.

“Anything, husband.” Blaine said, his curiosity overflowing.

“Have you…ever been with a woman?” Kurt asked, his eyes darting away to his own hands as they stroked up and down Blaine’s arm.

“Several,” Blaine answered, swiftly but not proudly. He had always been fond of his many sexual escapades, but now, in the face of Kurt’s scrutiny, they seemed like a dark blemish on his soul.

Kurt nodded, looking unhappy with Blaine’s answer, dropping a kiss onto Blaine’s arm to cover the look in his eyes.

“Have you any more questions, my love?” Blaine asked, pulling his husband close.           

“Only one, my lord,” Kurt said, trying to maintain his good humor. Kurt paused, mulling the question over in his mind, not sure he even wanted to ask it.

“Well,” Blaine said, sealing his mouth against Kurt’s neck and blowing on his skin until he squirmed to get away, “have out with it.”

“In all these liaisons you have had in your past, is there a chance that one might have produced a child?”

Blaine laughed again. Indeed, it was a thought he oft had himself, but as time went by he became certain _that_ particular hand of fate had never pointed a finger at him.

“No, my love,” Blaine laughed - a rich, genuine sound that warmed Kurt’s very soul.

“Not ever, my lord?” Kurt prodded with a smile.

“Not a one,” Blaine assured him with a gentle squeeze. “And on that, you have my word as a gentleman.”

“Hmph,” Kurt remarked, “and how good is that, my lord?”

“For the time being, it will have to do,” Blaine said, reaching down to pinch Kurt right below his ribcage. Kurt giggled, pushing Blaine’s hand away.

“Would you like a child, my love?” Blaine asked, speaking the question into Kurt’s bare shoulder so that Kurt felt it against his skin.

“Oh yes,” Kurt said, nodding gleefully. “One day, I would very much adore a child, but for now…”

“What?” Blaine asked, trailing more kisses down Kurt’s shoulder to his arm.

“I think, my lord, that maybe we should consider returning to our guests.”

 


	13. Chapter 12

The lights within the Anderson’s city manor burned brightly into the late evening when a woman dressed in a deceptively demure gown of emerald green velvet approached. Wringing her gloved hands, she cautiously climbed the steps and stood before the oak door. A brass door knocker dangled from a bolt in the wood, but the woman chose to rap her knuckles against the door instead.

She pulled her shawl close about her to block the chill, her own fear niggling at her brain, almost making her change her mind and run. She might have turned, might have stepped quickly back down the staircase and ran back the way she came if she didn’t feel so weak...and if the door hadn’t already started to open.

Brown eyes appraised her suspiciously, and she didn’t blame them.

“Yes, madam?”

“I hav’ come t’ speak t’ Lord Anderson,” the woman replied, pulling her shawl down slightly over her face, further concealing her eyes. “Does he still reside ‘ere?”

“Yes,” the maid answering the door replied skeptically, “but he is rather engaged at the moment. Can I tell him who has come to call?”

The woman darted her eyes nervously from side to side. She leaned slightly toward the maid who made no move toward or away.

“Could you please just call ‘im to the door?” the woman asked. “It’s a matter of some impor’ance.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, miss,” the maid replied, her irritation mounting at the presence of another uninvited guest seeking audience with his lordship. “You will have to leave a message, or come back at another time?”

“Who is it, Marley?” Kurt’s voice rose above the music and the general din of the guests. “Who is there at the door?”         

“A woman, milord,” Marley said with a dismissive tone, “to see his lordship. She will not give me her name.”

Kurt moved closer, opening the door wider so that he may see the woman on the doorstep. Kurt’s smile never faltered as he admitted the mysterious woman into the entryway. The shawl around the woman’s head slipped, and she fumbled to put it back into place, but Kurt got a good look at her before she did. She had blonde hair that spilled from a tight spiral knot at the back of her head. Her face was done up with heavy makeup - a thick dollop in particular smudged beneath her right eye failed to conceal a painful looking black-and-blue, the bruise shining like a beacon from her too pale skin. Her lips were painted heavily with rouge. There was no doubt in Kurt’s mind as to what this woman was, but he wanted to know if he was right.

“May I ask how you know my husband?” Kurt asked.

“We’ve been…intimately acquainted, m’lord,” the woman admitted shamefaced, shaking in Kurt’s presence straight down to her knees. Marley gasped audibly, and Kurt shot his maid a severe look. “But that’s not why I’m ‘ere, m’lord,” the woman assured him. “I ‘ave…I ‘ave a letter for his lordship…on behalf of a mutual friend.”

Kurt approached the woman, who automatically took a step away. He smiled at her, trying to appear as benign as possible. He assumed she hadn’t had many favorable interactions with members of the opposite sex.

“Well, if you give the letter to me, I’ll be sure that Lord Anderson gets it right away, Miss…”

“Brittany,” the woman said, bobbing a small, wobbly curtsy, “and beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, I promised to deliver it to ‘im personally.”

Kurt opened his mouth to object, but the woman continued.

“It was a deathbed promise, m’lord,” she said, bowing low, hiding her suddenly wet eyes behind her shawl.

Kurt felt his heart twist. He didn’t want to let his husband anywhere near this woman, but this was an issue that had naught to do with him, and besides, it would be a sin to deny a deathbed request.

“Marley,” Kurt commanded, keeping his eyes on the woman who struggled to regain her feet, “please fetch Lord Anderson from the ballroom.”

“Yes, milord,” Marley answered, sounding as if she didn’t approve of the task set to her.

“And Marley?” Kurt called, catching his maid before she left.

“Yes, milord?”

“Please fetch our guest a plate of food from the kitchen and some brandy.”

“Yes, milord,” Marley said, bustling away.

“I’m sincerely sorry to intrude, m’lord,” Brittany began, “but I didna know you and y’ur husband were receiving guests this evenin’.”

“That’s quite alright,” Kurt said, bringing forward a wingtip chair and motioning for Brittany to sit.

Brittany looked at the chair oddly, as if she meant to refuse the seat, but her knees wobbled again, and she was forced to sit.

“Thankin’ you kindly, m’lord,” Brittany said. “Y’ur vastly more civil than I thought you’d be, all things considered.”

Marley came with the plate of food before Blaine arrived, and it broke Kurt’s heart to watch the woman eat, devouring the food without chewing it, shoveling it into her mouth as if she hadn’t seen food in weeks and wouldn’t see it again after this. Probably no further in age than Kurt, Brittany’s face appeared much older, lines around her mouth deeper than they should be, her eyes more burdened with sadness and loss than should be allowed. 

“Brittany?” an authoritative voice called from the hallway. Her face bobbed up from her empty plate, which she was in the process of licking clean. Blaine entered the entryway with Marley behind him. He stared at the blonde woman with conflict in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“She came to bring you a letter, my lord,” Kurt said, stepping up to his husband, his voice commanding in a quieter way than Blaine’s. Blaine looked from Kurt’s face to Brittany’s, and then back to Kurt’s with a curious expression.

Brittany stood from the chair on steadier legs after she downed the glass of brandy. She handed the licked plate and the empty snifter to Marley, who looked at them and Brittany with the same repulsed expression she would use if a mange-ridden cat had just dropped a dead rat in her lap.

“That will be all for now, Marley,” Kurt said after seeing her face, sending the girl on her way.

Brittany walked up to Blaine and handed him the folded piece of paper, which she pulled from inside her glove. Blaine took the letter, opened it and read it. Brittany watched on, her eyes clouded, and Kurt wondered if she knew what the letter contained. Kurt did not read over his husband’s shoulder, but watched his eyes as they scanned the page. Blaine read the letter over twice, and then peered at the signature, as if he was trying to make out its authenticity.

Satisfied, he folded the letter and looked at Brittany.

“Thank you for delivering this,” he said, though he looked anything but. He shoved the letter in his pocket and turned to Kurt.

“I need to away immediately,” he said. He turned over his shoulder and, seeing his manservant lingering nearby, he motioned for the man to come over.

“No, my lord,” Kurt said, feeling a little bitter at Brittany for showing up when she did. Tomorrow at breakfast perhaps, or in the afternoon would have been a better time. Not now during their first ever ball – not after they had gotten the chance to make love.

Kurt had been hoping that after all the guests had departed, he might be able to persuade Blaine to make love to him again.

“It’s imperative that I go, my love,” Blaine said softly.

Sam came over and bowed to his master.

“I will need my hat and coat, and the carriage hitched and brought around,” Blaine commanded. “And please make haste.”

“Yes, Lord Anderson,” Sam said and hurried away.

“Can you at least tell me where you are going in such a hurry, my lord?” Kurt asked.

“I would explain it all to you if I had more time,” Blaine said with regret. “But we’ll discuss it as soon as I get home. I promise.”

Kurt nodded. Sam returned with Blaine’s coat and hat, and helped him put them on. Kurt held tight to Blaine’s cane while he dressed, and handed it back over when Blaine was done.

Blaine pulled a gold coin from his pocket and handed it over to Brittany, who took it with eyes shining.

“For your trouble,” he said.

“Thank ye,” Brittany said, bobbing a curtsy and tucking the coin in her cleavage.

“May I drop you off somewhere?” Blaine asked Brittany.

Brittany looked at Blaine, and then at Kurt, who smiled politely, but dropped his eyes.

“No, m’lord,” she said, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, “I’ll be a’right. Your husband has a’ready been execp’ionally gracious. I wouldna want to impose.”

“It would be no imposition,” Blaine said, trying harder to persuade her, but the woman shook her head of blonde curls and backed away toward the door.

“You are very generous, m’lord,” she said, reaching a hand back to open the door, “and in repayment of tha' kindness, I wouldna see ya two torn asunder. So for the sake of your marital happiness, I must decline.” She opened the door a crack, and with a smile and a nod, ducked out into the night, closing the door behind her.

Blaine looked at Kurt, as if he didn’t realize Kurt might not appreciate Blaine riding alone in a carriage with a woman of Brittany’s chosen profession.

Blaine waited till Sam had gone to ready the carriage, then walked over to Kurt, wrapped his arm around his husband’s waist, and held him tight.

“I’m yours now, my love,” he whispered, placing a kiss on Kurt’s cheek. “No one else’s mouth will ever tempt me the way yours does. No one else’s eyes will ever look at me the way you do. I will not dishonor you with anyone. I promise.”

Kurt let those words sustain him after Blaine kissed his forehead and headed out into the night.

* * *

 

The clock had only just struck eleven when Blaine slipped into his awaiting carriage and took off. Down the more unfamiliar streets of London the horse-driven carriage took him, stopping at the gates of a deserted looking compound.

Blaine rapped the head of his cane against the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing within. Blaine waited a tense moment, keeping an eye out for thieves in the shadows, but no one came to answer. Everything appeared abandoned. Blaine rapped again, harder. He saw the flicker of a lamp making its way down a long corridor. Blaine heard the _shh…shh…_ shuffling sound of dragging feet, and a tinny high-pitched voice muttering swears. The door opened, the iron hinges squeaking loudly. A ghoulish woman with thin skin stretched tight across her bones and sunken black eyes off-set in her narrow skull peered menacingly at him from beneath a flimsy shawl.

“It’s th’ mid’le of th’ night…” was the greeting she croaked. She let her eyes roam unabashedly over him, “ _m’lord_ ,” she added at the appearance of his fine suit and layered driving coat.

“I have come for a child,” Blaine announced.

“Com’ back tomor...”

The jingling of his purse dangling in front of her face stopped her tongue.

“I cannot return,” he said. “You understand, I’m sure.”       

The old woman reached out spindly fingers to grab hold of the purse. She weighed it in her hand.

“Wha’ age?” she rasped, her voice harsh like the grating of metal against metal.

“I need a particular child.” Blaine held the letter Brittany had given him open in front of the woman’s eyes.

“We don’ do requests...” she said, batting it away.

Another leather pouch of coins halted her speech. She snatched it and had the audacity to weigh this one as well.

“Come in, m’lord. There ar’ papers to...”

Blaine pulled forward a third pouch and plopped it into the old woman’s already outstretched hand.

“Why don’t you fill out those papers for me, hmmm?” Blaine said as he followed her down the hall. 

The gray woman looked up at him, her dry lips splitting into a wicked smile. 

“Gregory?” she bellowed, not caring whom she woke from a sound sleep. Within the space of a breath, a skittish child appeared. He was no more than five by the look of his face, but he had the stature of a three-year-old, and from what Blaine could see of his arms, the shivering child was nearly skeletal.

“Y-y-y-yes, m-m-m-madam?” the child squeaked with a pronounced stutter.

“Go fetch tha’ dark-haired brat what calls herself Beth.” The child took no notice of Blaine, only nodded to his mistress and sped down the hallway, bare feet shuffling along the rough stone floor.

“An’ be quick with you or I’ll skin yur hide!” she yelled to the child’s retreating back.

Blaine was disgusted, but he held his tongue. He couldn’t save them all, but he needed to at least get the child he came for.

From the far end of the dark hall, Blaine could hear a door creak open. A dim ray of light spilled out from the narrow entryway. Against the light, Blaine could see the shadow of another small child as the first stepped out. In their fist they clutched a beat-up box with a make-shift handle. With their free hand, they rubbed a fist to their eyes. Whether the child was crying or simply wiping the sleep away, Blaine could not tell. The child walked cautiously toward them, head bowed.

“Quick now,” the old harpy wailed. “There’s sum of us needs to sleep, a’right?”

The child quickened their pace, keeping eyes fixed on Blaine.

Beth stepped into the light, and Blaine noted with amazement the child’s inquisitive green eyes...just like hers. Blaine felt something inside him die.

“Your mother sent me for you,” Blaine said softly.

The child nodded, a multitude of questions hiding behind her tired eyes. Blaine put an arm around the child’s narrow shoulders.

“Do you have all of your clothes?” Blaine asked, nodding toward the case in her hands. 

“Her clothes are sufficient,” the irritated woman answered for her. “Now be off with you both and leave us in peace.”

Blaine ushered the girl away, glancing back over his shoulder to look at the child called Gregory, his diminutive face fading in the shadows of the grim orphanage. A lump rose to his throat and settled there.

In a perfect world, those three bags of gold Blaine surrendered would go towards making that boy’s life better, along with the lives of the other destitute children boarding within.

But Blaine knew the world they lived in was far from perfect.

Blaine took Beth’s frail hand in his and led her swiftly to his carriage, eager to be gone from the disgusting confines of the orphanage and its severe-faced proprietor.


	14. Chapter 13

The last of the guests had climbed into their carriage and left well after sunrise. Kurt hadn’t slept a wink, but not because his duties as a proper host forbade it. Blaine had not returned, and Kurt was starting to worry.

What if Brittany’s note had been a reliable lead on Cooper’s killers? What if it had been the answer Blaine was looking for this whole time? What if he went out alone to confront them and they wounded him – or killed him?

Too many _what if’s_ raced through his head for him to even consider getting a decent sleep until he knew that his husband was alive and safe. One more hour without any word and Kurt would have Sam send for the authorities.

Kurt paced by the door and would not leave it, holding vigil, needing to be on hand the second his husband came home. He had been wearing a path in the floorboards for over an hour when he heard the doorknob turn. Kurt pounced on it, turning the knob from the inside and pulling the door open wide. Blaine stumbled in, favoring his left leg so drastically that the limb looked completely immovable. Kurt was overjoyed, and he threw himself at the man, completely unaware that he had not come home alone.

“Oh, Blaine!” Kurt cried, burying his head in the crook of Blaine’s neck before Blaine got a foot in the door. “I was so worried! When you didn’t come home, I thought the worst.”

“Have you been up all night, my love?” Blaine asked, stifling a yawn.

“I have, my lord,” Kurt said. “I…”

A throat clearing behind Blaine, somewhere on the steps outside, interrupted Kurt.

“Are you…are you not alone?” Kurt asked, stepping back and giving Blaine room to enter the house. Kurt heard feet climb up the steps behind his husband, and he moved aside to greet the visitors when they entered.

After Blaine came a tall, thin, stone-faced woman, her salt-and-pepper hair tied so tightly at the top of her skull that it pulled open her eyes and stretched the skin of her forehead. She cleared her throat again but didn’t speak, which Kurt found to be an odd and irritating habit. Beside her, hiding in the folds of Blaine’s coat, walked a little girl – small and frightfully thin with big green eyes and dark colored curls framing her face.

If Kurt looked past the fragile figure and the dirty face, the child bore a remarkable likeness to Blaine – a likeness that made Kurt’s stomach flip.

Kurt closed the door, giving himself a moment to think.

“Who is your company, my lord?” Kurt asked, praying that Blaine would say the child belonged to the surly woman, and that they were some previously unknown relation. That would explain the resemblance.

 _Oh, please,_ Kurt pleaded in his head _, let that be the case!_

“This,” Blaine said, indicating the woman with his hand, “is Ms. Hedgewitch. She is a nurse I hired this morning.”

“Oh!” Kurt said, turning to the woman and offering her a bow. “How do you do this fine morning, Ms. Hedgewitch?”

“Well, milord,” the woman said, curtseying but not even cracking a polite smile.

Kurt turned expectant eyes back on his husband, begging silently for an explanation that wouldn’t tear his heart in two, and an exhausted Blaine sighed.

“And this,” Blaine said, “is Beth.”

The girl peeked out from behind Blaine’s coat. She wore a thin gray dress that looked as if it had been thrown together from flour and potato sacks. Her hands were wrapped around the handle of a disheveled box, held together with thin rope and a prayer.

“And Beth is…” Kurt asked, leaving the question open-ended, waiting for Blaine to fill in the blanks.

“She is the daughter…of an acquaintance,” Blaine said lamely, his blood boiling at his own feebleness. “A Miss Quinn Fabray. The woman died about a month ago and left the child to me.”

“Why would she leave the child to you, my lord?” Kurt asked, his voice shaking progressively as he spoke. “What were you to her?”

Blaine ran a hand through his hair, worrying the back of his neck while he came up with an answer for his husband.

“I suppose because I was one of the few friends she had left in life,” Blaine said, his countenance darkening. “I do not know, and unfortunately, I cannot ask her.”

Kurt heard the girl squeak at Blaine’s comment, and Kurt felt guilty that this conversation was taking place in front of her.

“Regardless of her motives,” Blaine continued, “the child is mine now, and I charge you with her care, husband.”

“Me?” Kurt sputtered indignantly. “Why---?”

“You said you wanted a child, so I have brought you a child,” Blaine said, touting his flawed logic in a frustrating and insufferably superior way.

Kurt shook his head.

“This is not the way that works, my lord,” Kurt argued.

Blaine ignored his husband, not in the habit of having his decisions questioned, especially in front of the help. He made a dismissive motion to the nurse holding the child’s hand.

“Take her upstairs to the nursery and have a bath drawn,” Blaine commanded. “I know very little about orphanages, but that hovel I picked her up in was atrocious.”

“As you wish, Lord Anderson,” the equally insufferably superior woman said. Kurt’s maid squirreled ahead of the pair to lead them to the proper room – a room that Kurt had only been in once and hated devoutly.

Kurt watched the girl go, led up the stairs by the newly acquired nurse, who held onto the child’s hand as if she were a rabbit that might bolt any second. Though the stern woman seemed adept at exercising control over the child, she did not seem at all attentive or sympathetic to the pathetic creature.

The child was frail and underfed - that Kurt could see for certain through the frock that she wore. But more than that, Kurt appraised the child by her looks – her all-too familiar shock of dark curls, her lightly tan skin. The only feature unfamiliar about her was her green eyes – eyes as frightened and lost as Kurt’s were after his mother’s death.

Kurt’s mouth dropped. He waited till he heard the door upstairs shut before he spoke.

“That child is no acquaintance, my lord!” Kurt hissed. “She is your child, to be sure!”

Blaine’s face hardened. To Kurt’s accusation, he had no reply.

“You told me that you did not have a child,” Kurt argued, trying to make sense of this rude revelation. “You were adamant about the fact.”

“Well, here she is, isn’t she?” Blaine bellowed, not emulating Kurt’s care to keep from being heard.

"But you were so certain,” Kurt said, still struck dumb by disbelief. “Or did you say that to spare my feelings?”

Kurt looked to Blaine for an answer, but he had none.

“Why would you not tell me?” Kurt persisted as tears fell down his cheeks. “Did you not trust me? Could you not warn me, at least? Don’t I warrant that little bit of respect as your husband? Every tongue between here and Timbuktu will be wagging once news of this gets out. Maybe you need not love me, but you could at least respect me!”

Blaine was flummoxed by Kurt’s reaction to Beth. He had considered the possibility that Beth would not be well received by Kurt, but he hadn’t expected anything close to this. The anger Blaine had felt for himself for putting this responsibility on Kurt with no explanation immediately turned on the man in front of him, the man whose opinion Blaine thought had changed. After everything they’d been through, Kurt still thought that Blaine had no respect for him, and with every misstep he took, Blaine would be seen as nothing more than a fairytale villain, no matter how hard he tried.

“I am sorry that you didn’t have sufficient warning, husband, but your warning comes only twelve hours short of mine,” Blaine said. “It is my want that she live in my house, so she will live in my house. End of discussion.”

“I will not be burdened with the care of your byblows, Blaine!" Kurt cried, the heart in his chest weathering away. "I cannot."

“Then you may consider your position as guardian in title only,” Blaine said. “I have made accommodations for her, hidden her away to keep her out of your hair. You will not be bothered by her.”

Blaine brushed past Kurt and reached for the doorknob. With a jerk of his chin toward the door, he summoned his servant to follow.

“Wh--…where are you going?” Kurt stumbled through the words as he watched Blaine open the door.

“I am removing myself from your hair as well, husband,” Blaine answered curtly. “For the time being, I have need to be far from you.”

“My lord, you only just returned home. Do not leave me,” Kurt implored, but his pleas fell on deaf ears, sealed shut by Blaine’s wounded pride.

Blaine didn’t offer any token of affection to his distraught husband as he limped out the door with Sam on his heels. The door shut behind them and Kurt was left alone.

Again alone.

Much like that poor girl upstairs was alone.

Kurt did not like her living with them. He did not like her presence in Blaine’s house – _their_ house. He did not like a reminder of Blaine’s past life tormenting him. After everything Blaine had said, after denouncing the possibility of a child so expressly, apparently the fickle finger of fate had pointed his way, it just hadn’t let him know its designs till now.

But as much as Kurt did not like her, there was something wanting about the small girl, and Kurt could not abandon her to the will of one particularly uptight and fearsome nurse.

Kurt climbed the staircase, lugubriously tromping up the long flights till he reached that horrible nursery. He still didn’t understand the room - hadn’t from the start. It was gloomy and foreboding - not at all the kind of place where children should play.

Blaine played here once, and even that bit of history made the room no fonder for Kurt.

When he walked into the room, the sight that met him nearly ruined him. The girl was huddled in the corner, curled into a ball with her eyes squeezed shut, while Kurt’s maid tried to coax her into the tub, with the nurse standing disapprovingly nearby, her arms crossed, doing nothing to assist. The girl wore not a stitch of clothing (how they had managed that much, Kurt couldn’t even imagine) and Kurt could see every rib, every bone.

As soon as he stepped foot into the room, Marley rushed over to him.

"Oh thank heavens, milord!" she said with a sigh of relief. "We tried to get her into the tub, but she will not go. She will not let us touch her. She only wants you."

Kurt's eyes opened wide.

"Me?"

The maid nodded gleefully. The nurse, by comparison, looked extremely cross. Kurt wondered where Blaine had found her, because for a woman who was employed for the care of a child, she did not seem to like children at all.

Helping the child bathe was more hands-on than he had wanted to be for the moment, but he couldn’t leave the child shivering in the corner. Kurt approached the girl slowly, cautiously, like he would a frightened animal.

"Hello, my dear." Kurt kept his voice soft and even as he spoke. "Why don't you want to take a bath? The water is warm and you must be freezing."

"I…I don't want them,” the girl whimpered. “Those women. I don’t like women.”

Kurt’s brow furrowed.

“Why in heavens would you not like women?” Kurt questioned kindly. “Someday you will become a woman. There is no reason to be so critical of your own sex. You are only a child.”

The child swallowed lightly and her face relaxed a bit, but she did not uncurl from where she sat in the corner.

“The-the women…at the place I was staying…they were mean to us. They bathed us in cold water, and they fed us very little…” The words choked the girl, as if they were a sin to speak them out loud. Kurt dropped down to his knees and crept forward to speak to the girl at eye level. “And I know...I know you don't want me,” she said over a sob, “but you remind me of my mother."

Kurt didn't know what to make of the girl's comment. He looked up at Marley who shrugged, then he turned back to the girl.

"How do I remind you of your mother, child?"

"Your voice,” she said without hesitation. “It's so beautiful - like an angel's. My mother had an angel's voice, too."

Kurt felt his heart skip in his chest. He missed his mother’s voice every day. He had long since forgotten what it sounded like. He would give all that he had to hear her say his name – just his name - one more time.

“Marley?” Kurt beckoned. “Bring forth a towel.”

Marley rushed forward with a towel for Kurt, and Kurt wrapped the girl securely in it. He picked her up, stumbling backward when he over-anticipated her weight, for she weighed next to nothing.

Kurt smiled down at the child cradled in his arms, and she tried to smile back.

“What is your name again, dearest?” Kurt cooed.

“M-my name is Beth, milord,” she stammered. “Beth Fabray Anderson.”

The addition of the Anderson surname pinched around his heart, but he forced the feeling aside.

“Well, Beth Fabray Anderson, my name is Kurt Hummel Anderson,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “and I have a feeling you and I are going to become the best of friends.”

The girl giggled. It was a hollow, rough laugh, but it sounded musical to Kurt’s ears.

He approached Marley and the cross nurse with the girl cradled in his arms.

"Have the bath brought downstairs,” he commanded, “to the room adjoining mine."

“Yes, milord,” Marley said. “Right away.”

"But, sir," the nurse interrupted, stepping in Kurt’s way and addressing him for the first time, "Lord Anderson gave strict instructions that the child should be stationed here, and after all, the nursery is the place for children."

"Yes," Kurt said, "but I am his husband, and if you remember, he put _me_ in charge of the care of this child. Since you are her nurse, you will take orders from me. Am I clear?"

Marley stood ramrod straight with pride for her master.

"But Lord Anderson..."

" _I_ will handle Lord Anderson," Kurt said, and he was surprised that for the first time, he meant it.


	15. Chapter 14

Blaine didn't really go anywhere when he left the manor house. He had no destination in mind. He simply needed to leave. He had his driver take him around the city for an hour, and brought along his servant as assurance for his husband that Blaine wouldn't do anything untoward while he was out – since Kurt apparently needed such assurance.

The manor was quiet when he returned, and he took that as an opportunity to sneak up to his room, undress completely, including removing his false leg, and hide beneath the covers, gratefully becoming comatose for several hours.

He may have slept during that time, but he didn't sleep well, and as tired as he was, he knew there would be no more rest for him again until later. He had some legal details to work out now that he had taken Beth on – re-writing his will, making provisions for her future - so he decided to get out of bed and get to work. He rang for a bath to be brought to his room, and soaked in the water until it had gone frigid. He dried off, freshened up, then dressed for the day – or what remained of it – and headed to his office to spend a quiet evening alone with a tumbler of whiskey and his ledger.

* * *

Kurt always knew he'd be a father one day. It wasn't just a passing fancy, or the logical conclusion of his life. It was more of a calling. He felt it deep in his soul, down to his bones. When he pictured his life - even as a child growing up - family for him meant a husband _and_ a child. It might have been an effect of his mother dying so early in his life. He was only eight, after all, and her death left so many holes in his young life that needed to be filled. Having a father and a sister who loved him so completely filled in some of those holes. His passion for design filled a few others. His friendship with Marley mended a few, as did, to a degree, his brief association with Adam. All the positive relationships of his life had a hand in fixing him.

Recently, he had thought that Blaine would be the one to mend the rest, but that apparently wasn't so. There was one more – one important one – waiting to be filled, and in an instant, Beth had done that.

The second he lifted her into his arms and she looked upon him with her bright green eyes, he was done for – lost to this charming little girl.

If pressed as to whether he had dreamed of having a boy or a girl, he would have answered that either would be fine. He had no preferences as long as the child was healthy and he could make it happy. That was all he wanted.

But that would have been a tiny lie.

He had always dreamed of having a girl.

A little rough-and-tumble slip of a girl, who was as strong as she was fair, whom he could teach to draw and sew, but who could also outrun anyone for miles while wearing ten pounds of cotton petticoats and muslin skirts.

His daughter would be someone he could raise to be like his mother Elizabeth was in her youth – according to the stories his father told.

And now Kurt had Beth.

He hadn't made the connection in their names right away, but when he did, it felt like providence.

Beth had fallen into his life from out of the blue, and now he meant to protect her at all costs.

To top it off, she was a part of Blaine (the best parts, his mother would have said, for that's what children are) and having any inch of Anderson blood flowing through her veins made him love her even more.

Kurt saw Blaine when the weary man returned home, and though Kurt was glad to see him back again, he had no want to speak with him. He figured he should, at some point, clear the air with his husband, but he was still nursing his aching heart at what he felt was Blaine's unintentional betrayal, and decided to hold on to his anger a bit longer.

So instead, he spent the afternoon with Beth.

He bathed the girl in his own soaps and shampoos, and after consulting her ramshackle trunk full of filthy rags (which he later handed over to Marley to have burned), he dressed the girl in one of his own shirts until he could get her some new clothes. He fed her soup and bread and brushed her hair, tying her curls in pink ribbons away from her face, all under the overly critical eye of her dour nurse.

"She must nap now, milord," the woman snapped after Kurt had fed Beth her lunch.

Kurt scrunched his nose at the nurse and shook his head.

"Nonsense," he said. "She's not tired, are you dearest?" He looked down at the girl who hid behind his legs and looked only at him - none other.

"No, milord," Beth answered politely.

"See?" Kurt said, beaming at the nurse in triumph. "She's not tired. She will sleep when she is tired."

"You must not read to her so much, milord," the nurse scolded him after a fifth round of _Marigold Garden_ – a book his mother had read to him as a child, and which he kept his entire life in the hopes of passing it along. "If you do, she will not learn diction properly."

"Ridiculous," Kurt said with a laugh. "My mother read to me all the time, and I daresay my diction is perfect."

"You mustn't give her too much attention, milord," the woman barked when Kurt changed the ribbons in Beth's hair, trying to find the right ones to match her eyes, "or she'll start to think too highly of herself."

To that, Kurt glared at the woman from behind his vanity, raised a scathing eyebrow, and said, "Honestly, woman, do you have a book full of these ludicrous rules or do you just make them up as you go along?"

The woman huffed, all sorts of vitriol caught in her throat that would surely have gone flying his way had he not been a Count. As it was, they choked her to the point of turning her beet red in the face.

"Why don't you go take a walk?" Kurt suggested as he went back to his task of laying out ribbon. "It is quite a lovely day out."

"But, milord…"

"We will be fine here, I assure you," Kurt said. "You have given me so much excellent advice, I'm sure I will be expert at managing this unruly child for a few hours alone."

Kurt smiled when Beth giggled. The nurse stormed out in search of the isolation of her appointed bedchamber. Being an asset to her profession, having raised the sons and daughters of nobles for several years, she had never been treated thus, and by someone who had married into their title, no less. He would see - when his adopted daughter turned into a mannerless hooligan - that he should have paid more mind to her observations. But for now she would wait until the true lord of the manor returned, and give that more sensible gentleman a piece of her mind.

* * *

The evening came upon them quickly, as time seemed to fly for Kurt, even with all the matters troubling his head. He read to Beth more, and sang to her a lovely lullaby in French that his mother used to sing to him at bedtime. After he fed Beth her dinner and a piece of chocolate cake, he sat by her bedside until she fell asleep.

He had leaned over to snuff out the light in the lamp by her bed, but she held his hand tight and whimpered.

"No, please, milord," she begged. "Don't turn it off. I am afraid of the dark."

"Of course, ma petite fille," he consoled her, hushing her softly. "I am not all too fond of the dark myself."

He watched the girl drift to sleep, smiling in her dreams, and felt himself become whole.

This was falling in love, but a different kind of _falling in love_ than he had with Blaine.

Kurt looked around the room that he had moved her into. It was the empty bedroom right beside his own, possibly belonging to one of the boys when they lived here. But it was undecorated for the most part – no little touches to make it homely, nothing personal or special or _Beth's_. Beth needed so many things – clothes, shoes, books, toys – but most of all, she needed parents who loved her.

And if they could learn to love each other, that would be a blessing.

Kurt rose from the bed when he was certain the girl was asleep, though he had waited ten minutes extra to be sure. He was met at the door by Marley, who looked in on the child as if she were a sleeping angel abed in the room instead of a frightened little girl, and the nurse, whose humor had not improved after her lengthy time-out.

"I am going downstairs to speak with my husband," Kurt said, though he spoke more to Marley than to the tight-lipped woman who had the gall to glare at him. "I do not want her disturbed, and I want that lantern kept lit."

"Yes, milord," Marley said, curtseying to her master, while the nurse remained stolid and quiet.

Kurt turned cold eyes on the woman and returned her glare.

"Is that understood?" Kurt asked of the woman who continued to glare as if she wasn't standing in the presence of not only a lord, but her employer.

"Yes, milord," she said in an _I know better_ sort of way.

Kurt knew that tone of voice well.

His sister had perfected it.

Kurt looked the woman over with a hard stare. He didn't trust her – not as far as he could pick her up and throw her, which was something he discovered he would like to do very much. But Marley was above-stairs to assist, and hopefully she would be the one to take most charge of the little girl.

Kurt had been thinking over what he would say to his husband for most of the afternoon.

Kurt had his own ledger, but the child needed more than he could afford her, and that burden should really fall to her father anyway.

Kurt sighed. He didn't like all of this division, all of this inequality. He wanted them to be on equal ground in this – one whole moving through life together, not just two parts walking side by side.

He didn't give himself the luxury of loitering in front of his husband's door to pull himself together, but knocked without hesitation, and walked in at the first sign of an invitation.

Blaine's body sank into itself when he saw his husband walk in, especially considering the determined look in his unusually steely eyes. A side effect of living with him, Blaine suspected. His husband's beautifully rounded corners were turning into hard edges – razor sharp to the touch.

It would be an exciting change if Blaine wasn't sure he had pushed Kurt too far, and that his husband might actually leave him.

It could have been the whiskey whispering in his ear, but the doubts were there, and the current state of Kurt's expression were making those doubts worse.

Kurt walked straight up to his husband's desk and cleared his throat, refusing to be intimidated by the man frowning down at his ledger.

"My lord?" Kurt began. "I need to have a word with you."

Blaine looked thoroughly exhausted with his husband even before he raised his head to hear him speak.

"Yes, Kurt?" Blaine said.

Kurt tilted his head, looking at Blaine with disappointment, as though he had expected a different response.

"Will you not ask how your daughter is faring this evening, my lord?" Kurt asked dryly.

Blaine sighed.

"Of course," he said, though the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "How is Beth this evening?"

"She is as well as can be expected, my lord," Kurt said. "She has been bathed, fed, and put to bed for the evening."

"Wonderful," Blaine said. "Was that all you came down here to tell me?"

"No, my lord," Kurt said, pulling himself straighter as he prepared to make his request. "We need to discuss this matter more extensively."

"Kurt," Blaine exhaled long, "I am not in the mood to hear any more from you today. I have already said..."

"I will need an allowance, my lord," Kurt interrupted.

Blaine's eyes narrowed. Kurt had never asked for an allowance.

There it was. That voice echoing in Blaine's tired mind.

_'He's making plans. He's going to leave you.'_

"What for, husband?" Blaine gripped the end of his desk to stand. He couldn't let Kurt leave. He would take Kurt's hands, hold him in his arms, beg him not to go, but before he had even raised himself off his seat, Kurt moved forward and covered Blaine's hands quickly to stop him.

"Please, my lord," Kurt begged flatly. "You are tired. Do not trouble yourself with standing."

Blaine's body froze.

"What do you need an allowance for, my lord?" Blaine asked, sitting back down in his chair, ignoring the stutter that his heart had taken on.

"For the child, my lord," Kurt said. "For Beth."

Blaine looked up suddenly, stunned by his husband's unexpected request.

Kurt didn't appreciate Blaine's silence. In his father's house, silence usually meant _no,_ and Kurt would not have his request denied.

"She has no clothes, my lord," Kurt continued.

"She had a bag with her when I brought her home," Blaine argued.

"Full of rags, my lord. Suited only for work as a chimney sweep, or less." Kurt rounded Blaine's desk and stood before him. Blaine felt uncomfortable with people looking down at him, and even though Kurt wasn't expressly told this, he felt it in the way Blaine refused to look up at him. Kurt took a knee respectfully, but he did not shy away from his husband's heated gaze. "And she will need primers."

"Primers?" Blaine's expression changed from suspicious to bemused. He did not see his husband employing such a lie to procure money if he intended to leave. For the moment, Blaine was safe.

"Yes, my lord. For reading, writing, and learning French."

"She must learn French?" Blaine would have laughed if not for the serious look on Kurt's face. Blaine had never seen Kurt behave this way. He was no longer the blushing boy asking for permission. He was telling Blaine what he wanted to do...and Blaine quite enjoyed it.

"Yes," Kurt replied simply. "And I will require the piano tuner to come in immediately."

Blaine's eyes became dangerous. This he was definitely going to object, but Kurt, cool and calm in the face of Blaine's impending wrath, raised a hand to silence him. Blaine was floored by his husband's nerve.

"I know that you and the piano have...a past, shall we say. But you haven't gotten rid of it yet, so I am certain it is something you can learn to overcome...for Beth's sake."

Blaine blinked, not believing what he was hearing…or feeling. He knew he adored Kurt. He was infatuated with him. But here, being ordered around by this handsome, compassionate, confident young man, Blaine realized, he was falling in love.

" _And,"_ Kurt continued, "I have had Beth moved into the room adjoining mine."

Blaine's eyes were about as wide as saucers and ready to fall from out his skull.

"You are asking me..." Blaine stood this time, pulling Kurt up with him, "to put this child...in the room next to yours?"

Kurt did not flinch.

"I hope it pleases you, my lord, but it is not a request," he said. "I _will_ keep her in the room beside mine, regardless of any objection you may have."

Kurt's perfect pink lips were set in a thin, determined line, a challenging eyebrow raised.

"And if it displeases me?" Blaine asked. "And I choose to spank you for it?"

"I think that we both know I will enjoy it, my lord," Kurt countered with a wicked grin, "but she will still be in the room beside mine."

Blaine blinked, wordless, but bent to his desk, unlocked his top desk drawer, and pulled out his bill fold. Kurt stood, giddy with this triumph though humble enough not to show it. He walked to the office door and summoned the below-stairs maid, not wishing to pull Marley down from her duties upstairs.

"Please fetch Sam," Kurt said to the young maid. "I would like to go out."

"No need," Blaine intervened. He took up his cane and hobbled over to the peg on the wall that held his coat and his hat. "I think I would like to accompany my husband tonight."

Kurt's eyes widened, and his lips formed that little 'o' that Blaine found so endearing.

"Well, then we will order the carriage," Kurt offered.

Blaine waved his hand again.

"No need, husband," he said. "We will walk."

Both Kurt and the maid looked on in stunned silence as the man put on his coat and hat. Kurt grabbed a scarf from the same peg by the door and wrapped it securely around his husband's neck. Blaine watched with an amused smile as Kurt tied the scarf into a knot at his neck and tucked the ends into his coat front.

Dressed to go out, Blaine escorted Kurt to the front door, where the maid helped him shrug into his coat and hat. Blaine took Kurt's scarf from the maid's hands and mirrored Kurt's action, wrapping it around Kurt's neck and tying it into a knot at the front. Kurt had to bend a bit for his husband to reach comfortably, but he stooped patiently, holding his breath as he waited for Blaine to finish. Then Blaine offered Kurt his arm.

"We shant be too long," Kurt informed the maid. "Please insure that my maid Marley stays her post upstairs with the young mistress. I gave her strict orders about her care."

"Yes, milord," the maid replied obediently.

Kurt glanced at Blaine, who looked at him with a reverent expression - one of awe and appreciation, and maybe a touch of bittersweetness that Kurt wanted so much to protect.

"Shall we be off then, my lord?" Kurt asked, motioning toward the door.

"Yes, husband," Blaine said, lifting Kurt's hand to his mouth for a kiss. "Let's."


	16. Chapter 15

Shopping was not a favorite past time of Blaine’s whatsoever. He couldn’t recall the last time he had stepped into a readymade shop. When he needed new clothes, he hired a tailor to come to the house and fit him. He’d been using the same man for the job most of his life – the same tailor his father had in his employ now made suits for Blaine.

He wondered, in passing, what he would have to do to convince Kurt to fashion an original suit for him.

Aside from clothes, anything else that he needed he ordered and had delivered. Done and done. He had decided to accompany Kurt on this excursion because he longed to show his husband that he supported his interests – the way Sebastian had recommended. One of Kurt's interests was fashion, and fashion meant shopping, ergo here Blaine was in a readymade shop while Kurt shopped for Beth.

 _Beth_.

The thing that Blaine thought this morning would destroy their marriage had quickly become Kurt’s newest passion.

Blaine had never seen Kurt shop before, but watching him in action, Blaine stood absolutely in awe of him – and out of his path, which was by far the safest place to be. Kurt was in his element and he was a force to be reckoned with.

Kurt moved swiftly about the shop with the grace of a gazelle. He knew exactly what he wanted. Even more impressively, he never paid the ticket price for anything. As Kurt commanded the room at some of the most exclusive boutiques in London, sales women and merchants actually feared him.

"No," Kurt said as a timid woman showed him a dress, "I want the green not the blue. It needs to match her eyes. And don't even think of charging me full price. I know that's from last season."

"We'll take the riding boots in calf skin, and three pairs of the sturdy leather. My girl must be able to run when she wants to..."

"Make that seven bolts of the linen, one in every color, and the lace to go with it - the HANDMADE lace, not that new-fangled stuff. And if your boy drops it when he delivers it, I'll come back for your head!"

That's how it went, store after store, until a full wardrobe was ordered, bolts of fabric sent ahead to the manor, and a small box - packed with a nightgown, a jumper, and several books - nestled underneath Kurt's arm.

Kurt was in the midst of signing the bill when he spotted Blaine in a far corner of the shop, transfixed by a toy doll. It wasn't a China doll, as was the rage with girls Beth’s age, but a cloth doll with long blonde hair made of finely spun yarn, a soft, hand-painted face, and vibrant green eyes.

Kurt walked up behind his husband, mesmerized by his solemn eyes and unsteady hands.

"I was thinking she should have a doll." Blaine looked at the doll with a wistful expression. "You know, to play with, and to sleep with...to hug…"

Blaine talked to the doll as if Kurt wasn't even standing there beside him. He gently touched her velvet dress and her tiny cotton apron, but it was her face that held his attention. When Blaine finally turned to look at Kurt, there was the faintest hint of tears in his eyes.

"Do you think she will like it?" Blaine's voice broke between decision and uncertainty. "Little girls like dolls, right?"

Kurt picked up the doll, treating it like it was the most precious thing he had ever seen – and it was when he saw it through Blaine’s eyes. Kurt smiled.

"I think she will love it, my lord."

Kurt turned to the salesgirl, who stood shivering at whatever words would next come out of Kurt's mouth. He handed her the doll and said, "We will be taking this as well. Please wrap her immediately. Maybe in some fancy paper? With a bow?"

The girl was shocked by Kurt's change in demeanor. She smiled meekly, gave Kurt and Blaine a small bow, took the doll, and walked away.

Kurt watched Blaine eye the girl who walked away with the doll. Kurt took his husband's arm and held it tight, lightly resting his head on Blaine's shoulder. The world stopped for Blaine for a moment as he enjoyed the warmth seeping through his body at Kurt's touch.

"Aren't you going to haggle, my love?" Blaine asked, confounded by Kurt as well.

"No, my lord,” Kurt said, shaking his head, "for gifts from the heart, we pay full price."

* * *

 

The walk back to the manor took longer than the walk from, with Blaine’s hip acting up on him. The freezing air whistled around them, chilling them straight through their coats to the skin. They had been on their feet for a while, walking the uneven road, and Blaine couldn’t wait to be warm in his bed again.

But he didn’t regret a minute of his shopping adventure with Kurt.

Blaine wanted to let Kurt know that he didn’t need Blaine’s permission to go shopping, or spend money the way he pleased. Blaine trusted Kurt with everything – whatever Blaine had belonged to Kurt now, too.

But if he did, Kurt might not invite him out on his next escapade, and Blaine didn’t want to miss it.

Kurt held on to the box of clothes and books, and Blaine held on to the prettily wrapped package that contained the doll, but they also held on to each other - arm in arm, matching their paces.

Blaine looked around at the empty road they walked. Only a few other couples were out braving the cold on foot. He spied another young couple walking opposite them, arm in arm, talking close together, their breath combining into a single cloud of fog in front of their faces. Blaine looked at the couple for longer than acceptable, but one of the men in that happy twosome seemed so familiar to him…

The man raised his head and laughed, blond hair sticking out from beneath his red knitted cap.

Blaine tugged on Kurt’s arm when he finally placed him.

“Is that…Mr. Crawford, my love?” Blaine asked in an ineffective whisper since three people near them turned to look. “ _Your_ Mr. Crawford?”

Kurt peeked around Blaine’s body and shrugged.

“Yes, I believe it is, my lord,” Kurt replied. “And he is not _my_ Mr. Crawford.”

“Well, he’s somebody’s Mr. Crawford, to be sure,” Blaine said. Kurt looked at his husband, who stared more at the couple hurrying into a storefront not too far away. He also noticed that Blaine had pulled his scarf loose with all of his spying.

“Yes, my lord,” Kurt said, stopping Blaine to re-tuck the ends of his scarf inside his coat. “Rachel wrote and told me about it weeks ago.”

“Weeks ago?” Blaine asked. “How long ago is weeks ago?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kurt said. “They got engaged a month after we got married, I suppose. They moved to London and opened a bakery.” Kurt looked along the avenue. “I believe it is around here somewhere if I remember rightly.”

Kurt finished tucking the final tail of Blaine’s scarf and made to continue on their way, but Blaine stopped him.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I did not think it would interest you, my lord,” Kurt said honestly. He _didn’t_ think it would interest Blaine. It barely interested _him_.

“Of course, it interests me, my love,” Blaine said. “How do you feel about all this?”

Kurt found it strange that Blaine should be so concerned about the matter of Mr. Crawford and his fiance, not even where it involved Kurt – which it did not.

Kurt had a husband and a life. He was finding ways to be happy.

If Kurt could just see through to the heart of the man standing in front of him, life would be so much simpler.

“Did you have a wish to stop into the bakery, my love?” Blaine asked. “Maybe wish them well?”

“It is late, my lord,” Kurt said, “and I am cold. I want to check in on Beth. I’m sure the bakery will be there in the morning. Unless…” Kurt closed the gap to talk softly to his husband, “are you in the mood for something sweet, my lord?”

“Yes, I am, husband,” Blaine said, a devious grin starting on his lips, “but the sweet thing I hunger for is not something that can be bought.”

“Then maybe we should get home, my lord,” Kurt said, “and I can help find that for you.”

“I think that indeed you would be most helpful in that regard,” Blaine smirked.

Kurt held Blaine’s arm tight and tugged him in the direction of home.

A block from the manor, Kurt saw a young boy with brown hair racing through the streets, headed their way.

"Milord!" the boy called hurriedly. "I have been sent to tell you to come home quickly!"

"Thank you, boy," Kurt said, handing him a coin and watching him scurry off. Kurt turned his worried eyes to his husband.

"Do you think you can walk a little faster, my darling?"

Blaine warmed at the affection in Kurt's voice. _My darling._ At that moment, if Kurt had asked, Blaine would have run the whole continent and back.

"Of course," Blaine replied.

Kurt supported his husband as much as possible on the slippery road as they raced at a faster clip for home.

The moment they stepped through the door, they heard Marley’s voice.

"Oh, thank God you are here, milord," she said, nearly flying down the stairs. "The poor girl woke up screaming but she will not let me help her. She only wants you."

Blaine nodded, handing Kurt the doll, his cane, and his hat. The maid's eyes shifted uncomfortably as she offered a curt bow.

"Begging your pardon, milord, but I meant the other…milord."

Kurt was hanging his husband's coat when he heard his maid speak. He exchanged a sheepish look with Blaine while he handed his husband his cane and ran up the steps, coat still on, packages tucked under his arms. Blaine could hear his voice carry from upstairs - his sweet cooing as he spoke to Beth.

Blaine made his way up the stairs slowly, his joints creaking as much as the wooden stairs beneath his feet.

"Oh, my poor darling." Blaine heard Kurt's voice comforting the whimpering girl. Kurt had carried her into his own room and was lying with her in his bed. "Now, you must tell me everything you dreamt, and leave nothing out."

The nurse stormed in after them, furious at being circumvented.

"But, milord," the woman said in a condescending manner, her voice straining to stay calm, her thin body fit to bursting with lectures about child rearing and uppity _I told you so’s_ , "you will spoil her if you treat her like this!"

When she spoke to Kurt, the tone of her voice amazed Blaine. How dare she speak to his husband that way? Blaine gripped his cane tightly, preparing to bound into the room and defend him when Kurt spoke.

"And I told _you_ to leave the lamp lit, you horrible witch!" Kurt's pale complexion flushed scarlet with rage, but his eyes glowed a cool, infuriated blue.

"If you coddle her," the woman pressed, "she will feel important."

Blaine caught a glimpse of Beth, or more accurately Beth's dark curls, as she hid her head in Kurt's shirt, her small body still visibly shaking.

"Now that's the only thing you've said so far that I agree with!" Blaine was overwhelmed by the fury in Kurt's voice. Even when Kurt had raised his voice at him, he didn’t sound half so terrifying. "I _want_ her to feel important!"

"Begging your pardon, _milord_ , but you will raise her to be a brat."

Blaine winced as if he had been slapped.

 _"Of course you would grow up to be a fag!”_ the unforgiving voice of his father rang in his ears. _“You were always such a simpering brat! Riding on your brother’s coattails. Can’t even wipe your own ass without him."_

"And you have no business around children, you heartless hag!” Blaine caught Kurt’s words as the memory of his father’s voice dissolved into the swell of Kurt’s tirade. “You are dismissed, madam! Effective immediately!"

"Begging your pardon..."

"Oh, I will beg your pardon, indeed,” Kurt roared, “if you are not out of this house in the next ten seconds, I will personally get out of this bed and beat you with my husband's cane!"

Blaine gripped his cane in his hand, a smile blooming along with an intoxicating rise of color on his face.

"B-but… it's the middle of the night!" the woman stammered. “And it must be below freezing!”

Kurt had threatened to get up, but he couldn't with Beth in his arms, so he grabbed a book from his bedside and tossed it with tremendous force right at the nurse's head. Blaine stifled a laugh as she gasped, ducking out of the way. The woman shot from the room like a bullet, nearly running into Blaine in the process. Blaine heard Kurt go back to his cooing over Beth.

"There, there, dearest," Kurt said, "that nasty, awful woman is gone, and now it's just you and me."

The nurse saw Blaine standing in the doorway, and a look of relief flooded her face.

"Thank heavens!" she cried. "I need to speak with you, milord. That man …"

"Is my husband," Blaine said proudly, "and he told you to get out. Now are you going to do that, or do I hand him my cane?" Blaine lifted the carved wooden stick, shaking it toward the nurse for emphasis. The woman shrank back with a squeal and ran to her room.

Blaine saw her again several minutes later with her bag in hand, a pair of thick shoes thrown haphazardly on her feet, and a long coat covering her gown. She mumbled heartily under her breath, but the only words Blaine could hear clearly were _crazy_ , _brat_ , and _lunatic_. Marley held the door open for her without being asked, and when the woman turned to call out the last of her insulting farewells, the maid slammed the door in her face, brushing her hands together, and walking away with her nose in the air.

Blaine laughed, eager to tell his husband all about it, but he stood outside Kurt’s bedroom, the crack of the door as far as he dare go.

Blaine wanted to go into the room, to sit at the edge of the bed and listen as Kurt read Beth story after story, told her jokes and sang her songs until the giggling girl drifted off to sleep, but Blaine felt like an intruder. Besides, as much as he wanted to be near her, the pain of losing her mother was still too fresh, and in the end, he stood and watched at the doorway for nearly an hour, aware of the curious expressions of the servants as they walked through the hallways to light the fireplaces and turn down the beds.

Eventually, Blaine retreated back down the stairs to his office, where he continued, half-heartedly, to balance his ledger.

* * *

 

When Blaine opened his eyes, the flame in his lantern was flickering and threatening to burn out. Blaine rubbed his bleary eyes and ran a hand through his messy hair, his palm coming to rest on his crimped neck. He looked at his pocket watch. It was long past midnight. Blaine made his way slowly up the stairs, his stiff joints informing him that there would be rain on the morrow. The door to Kurt's room was left ajar, a brilliant light spilling out into the hallway from within. Blaine peeked inside, careful not to disturb the quiet atmosphere. There the two lay, Kurt's muscular arms wrapped around the waifish little girl, but what made Blaine smile was that Kurt had managed to have the maids bring up nearly every lamp in the house.

Blaine sighed. He had been wrong. He had underestimated Kurt. In a way, he had even set him up to fail, but Kurt had risen to the challenge. Blaine missed Kurt. So much of the time they had together had already been lost because of Blaine’s vanity. He wanted to lay with Kurt in that bed, safe in his husband's arms, feeling his sleeping chest rise as he breathed, his soft chestnut hair resting against his cheek.

Blaine wanted that life, and he wanted it to start now.

Blaine began moving the lamps one by one into the adjoining room, until the smaller bedchamber was flooded with light, and his husband's room became solemn and dark.

Then Blaine collected the small girl from his husband’s embrace. Once he managed to pry her from Kurt's arms, Blaine saw two things that nearly broke his heart. First of all, Beth was dressed in one of Kurt's best every day shirts since she didn't have a nightgown of her own when she arrived. The other was the doll, which she held tightly in her arms. He lifted the girl carefully. He choked on a breath; she weighed no more than a bundle of twigs. It took him a moment to get his balance, but once he did, he managed to limp with the girl to her room. He tucked her into bed and kissed her on the forehead.

Blaine took a moment to look at her, arms still locked around the blonde-haired doll, face peaceful, long lashes resting against her cheek. Just like her mother, Blaine thought, except for the hair. The hair definitely looked like his - wild and curly, black as pitch. Her curls shone like glass in the candlelight. Blaine smirked. Kurt must have put the pomade he used in his own hair on the girl's curls.

The nurse was right. Kurt _was_ going to spoil her.

Spoil her with love, which was the best kind of spoiled.

It was the kind of spoiled his brother had been, and that Blaine had always wanted.

Blaine kissed the sleeping child's forehead again and retreated quietly into the next room, closing the door but leaving it open a crack. Then he left a single lantern glowing in the doorway in case Beth needed to come in to see Kurt.

 _His_ Kurt…his husband.

Blaine looked at the man lying in the bed. Kurt's lithe body had turned and the shadows from the single lamp stretched across his pale face. In sleep, he looked so much younger than his 22 years. His smooth face glowed in the light and Blaine longed to touch him, to run his fingertips down his cheek.

Kurt was still fully dressed in all but his shoes, which he had kicked off at the end of the bed.

Blaine approached the bed and sat on the end. He took Kurt's hand in his and held it, the fingers curling slightly in unconscious response to Blaine’s touch. Blaine's breath stuttered. His heart hurt. He was so full of regret for all of the things he had done to this boy. He selfishly took him from his family and a man who loved him, stole his virtue, and treated him with unkindness.

Blaine needed to fix this. He needed to make things right.

Blaine removed Kurt's stockings. He found a bottle of rose water beside Kurt's bed, put a generous amount in his palm, and gently rubbed his husband's feet. When he looked back up at Kurt's face, sleepy blue eyes looked back.

“Hello, my lord,” Kurt whispered.

“Hello, my love,” Blaine said.

"Where is Beth?"

"I put her to bed." Blaine tucked the blankets around Kurt's body, admiring the smooth column of Kurt's neck.

' _A tiny bruise would look beautiful right there,'_ Blaine thought, _'if only I could put my mouth to it.'_

"And the lamps, my lord?"

"I put them in her room for her."

Kurt nodded, his eyes fluttering shut again.

"Kurt?" Blaine stopped him, trying to catch an opportunity that he saw slipping through his fingers. "Kurt...I want to thank you...for everything you are doing for Beth."

Kurt smiled, but then he frowned.

"So you're not going to spank me?"

Blaine chuckled, furrowing his brow.

"Whatever for?"

"For firing the nurse,” Kurt explained. “The one you hired."

"No, Kurt." Blaine kissed Kurt chastely on the lips. "No, I won't."

"Hmm," Kurt murmured.

"What?"

"Well, I was wishing you would."

Blaine laughed. It was a foreign sound to Kurt's ears, but it was beautiful.

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice forced Kurt's eyes open once again.

"Yes, my lord?"

"If...may I...sleep in here?” Blaine asked, his words disjointed. “And would you hold me?"

Kurt's lips curled into a gentle smile.

"Of course, husband," he said, scooting over to give his husband ease to climb onto the bed. Blaine stripped down to his undershirt and pants and climbed into bed, fidgeting with his leg to try and get it to rest comfortably on the mattress.

“You can…take it off,” Kurt said, watching his husband struggle. Blaine’s eyes looked troubled, but Kurt put a hand on his. “I promise, I will not look while you do it.” Kurt held Blaine’s gaze then rolled onto his side, facing toward the wall and closing his eyes.

Blaine wasn’t ready – he just wasn’t ready for this step – but he needed to sleep beside his husband more than he needed this false limb to make him feel whole.

Because Kurt made him feel whole.

Blaine took off his pants and removed the false leg, undoing the leather straps and bindings, the metal buckles jingling loudly as Blaine’s fingers slipped. He took the fake limb off and looked at his leg briefly. He made it a point to ignore the stump of his severed leg, but now he looked at it, wondering how Kurt would react if he saw it.

 _When_ he saw it.

He couldn’t keep it hidden from his husband forever.

Blaine set the prosthetic aside and slipped his pants back on, tying a knot in the loose fabric so it didn’t catch and tug his pants off while he slept.

He tucked himself in beside Kurt on the bed, and Kurt rolled back around to meet him.

“Everything all right, my lord?” Kurt asked. Blaine nodded, pulling the covers up beneath his chin.

“It is now, my love,” Blaine said, letting Kurt envelope him in his arms. Blaine relaxed back against Kurt’s chest, dropping his head to Kurt’s shoulder.

“Good-night, Blaine,” Kurt said, placing a kiss in Blaine’s curls.

“Good-night, Kurt,” Blaine said in reply.

A soft drizzle of icy rain started to pound the roof of the manor, lulling Kurt immediately to sleep with its rhythmic song.

And Blaine - fighting sleep to have a few precious moments longer - gazed up at Kurt’s sleeping face and mouthed the words _I love you_ into the darkness.

 


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In this chapter we learn more about what happened during Blaine's stay at The Rose and Crown Inn after Blaine's leg was removed, and how Carole Hudson factors in to his life. It might be a little squicky to some people, but there was no way I could really censor it. It isn't gory or graphic, but just some mention of medical procedures. So, just be advised.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt moaned into the dark of Blaine’s bedchamber as his husband claimed him ruthlessly from behind. “Oh, Blaine! Yes! Yes!”

Sleeping in the bedchamber beside Beth’s didn’t afford Kurt and Blaine much opportunity to make love, wary as Kurt was of waking the girl with any expression of amorous affection. But the rains from that first evening seemed to continue for several days afterward, and its steady cadence on the roof of the manor seemed to help Beth sleep. Four days of storms had racked Blaine’s joints till he could scarcely walk, but it had also given them the best cover, and Blaine wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by, screaming muscles be damned. They had decided to take advantage of the driving rain to stifle any sound that might wake her up, but as an additional precaution, they snuck away to Blaine’s bedchamber for the act, returning to Kurt’s right afterward to sleep. Kurt quite enjoyed the sneaking about aspect, making the whole delicious adventure that much more sinfully taboo.

Kurt reached behind him, groping blindly for some part of his husband to hold on to. Kurt could just about touch his husband, but his hands fell short of grabbing hold whenever Blaine pulled back. Feather light strokes from Kurt’s fingertips slid down Blaine’s skin as Kurt grunted his frustration at not being able to touch Blaine’s body, to hold his shoulders, or wrap an arm around his waist.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt moaned, whining as his fingers found the leather straps that attached Blaine’s false leg to his hips. Kurt curled his fingers around them and tugged, pleading for Blaine to move faster. Blaine unwrapped his husband’s fingers and laid him out over the bed, grabbing hold of Kurt’s hips and pounding into Kurt harder.

“Yes!” Kurt pleaded. “Oh, yes! That’s it. But not too fast, my lord. I wish to savor the feeling of you inside my body.”

“You are going to tire me out, husband,” Blaine said, teasing but a little as he tried to siphon some of his husband’s energy while he pleasured him.

“Is there any way I can help you, my lord?” Kurt asked, wishing he could grab hold of that leather strap again. He liked the way it let him maneuver Blaine, let him pull the earl into him farther than ever before.

But he knew why Blaine wouldn’t let him touch it.

It was a part of Blaine’s false leg, and for now, that was off-limits.

“Bend your leg up, my love,” Blaine instructed, putting a hand beneath Kurt’s right knee and bending it up to lift his leg on the bed.

“Are you…are you sure?” Kurt asked with an embarrassed chuckle as Blaine helped him lift his foot up onto the bed, raising his knee to the level of his nose, and stretching his body out absurdly.

Blaine didn’t draw attention to Kurt’s discomfort, sneaking a hand underneath Kurt’s body to fondle his balls and stroke his cock while he moved inside of him with greater ease.

Kurt’s knees nearly buckled.

“Alright, you are sure,” Kurt gasped, grabbing at the covers on the bed so frantically that he almost yanked them clear off the mattress, and this time, Blaine did laugh.

“Is that better, my love?” Blaine asked with no real need of an answer.

“Yes.” Kurt breathed, unable to articulate the word.

But Blaine knew what Kurt wanted. He wanted more – more intimacy, more touching, and not just the way Blaine was touching him now, alternating between stroking him and fondling him, deftly turning climax from a simmering desire to a burning need. Kurt wanted slow, drawn out kisses on the lips, he wanted fingers laced together as Blaine held his hands above his head, he wanted to see his husband’s eyes roll back when Blaine came. Kurt wanted that connection that came from seeing his lover face to face.

Blaine compensated with kisses to Kurt’s shoulder, with bites to his neck, with one hand sliding up his sweat slicked chest to toy with his nipples, but most of all by saying his name over and over till it echoed in the room around them like a single strain of music.

“Kurt…oh, Kurt…my darling Kurt…”

Kurt called out Blaine’s name all throughout the act, and Blaine loved how vocal Kurt could be, but it was when Kurt’s voice completely failed him and Blaine’s name turned into a sigh, a squeak, or a moan that Blaine loved to hear it best.

“Blaine,” Kurt moaned, long and loud beneath the cover of the thunder that rumbled outside. “Blaine…Blaine…Blaine…”

Blaine felt his husband’s balls draw up and tighten, felt his cock bob in his hand, felt Kurt’s body shudder against him, and Blaine knew.

He knew that Kurt was close.

He loved that he knew.

“That’s it, my love,” Blaine said over a groan as his body responded in kind, following Kurt in his moment of ecstasy, linked to the signals from Kurt’s body, the very act of making Kurt cum enough to finish Blaine a hundred times over.

“Blaine…” Kurt said, the sound weak, swallowed before it even exited Kurt’s mouth when he came, painting Blaine’s hand with his heat.

“Kurt…” followed Blaine’s final, splintered groan as he came inside Kurt’s body – this phenomenal temple where only Blaine had been given the honor to worship.

“Kurt, my love,” Blaine whispered, dropping his head onto his husband’s bowed back and kissing a trail up his spine. “Kurt…”

Kurt raised a hand, still quivering from the strain of grasping the bed sheets so hard, and reached around his body for Blaine, but Blaine caught his hand and bent to kiss it, first each fingertip one at a time and then his palm, before returning it to its place on the bed. Panting for breath, Blaine inched away from his lover, regretful at having to leave Kurt’s soft skin and tremendous heat.

“Let me clean us up, love,” Blaine said, struggling a bit to stand upright, and then making his way to the water basin.

Kurt stood where Blaine left him, dutifully still with his head to the mattress and his eyes shut.

“Blaine?” Kurt heard the basin being filled, and then the pitcher returned to its spot on the table.

“Yes, my love?” Blaine asked with the tired sigh of satisfaction that comes from pleasing someone you love.

“May I…may I see it, my lord?” Kurt asked. He had held his tongue the past few days, but now, with the pain Blaine was in, it wasn’t a matter of morbid curiosity that made him ask. He wanted to help his husband. He wanted to see if there was anything he could do to ease Blaine’s suffering.

“See what?” Blaine responded in an attempt to stall, hoping that Kurt would rethink his request.

“Your leg,” Kurt said, recognizing Blaine’s tactic.

“I...I wish you wouldn’t ask, my love,” Blaine admitted. “I just…I don’t think I am ready for you to see it yet.”

Kurt sighed.

“My lord, I am your husband,” Kurt argued.

“Yes, and I…” Blaine bit his tongue before he said too much too soon. An admission of love at this very moment, while they were arguing about his leg, was not the way he saw confessing his feelings to Kurt. “How much of your innocence am I to steal? You need not have such a gruesome initiation into the world as to see fully what I hide.”

“I know what you hide, my lord.” Kurt said.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Blaine said. He returned to where Kurt lay on the bed, patiently waiting for Blaine to clean him. “It never properly healed, and the skin…” Blaine swallowed, running the wet cloth over Kurt’s sensitive skin. “I am fine, really, but the remaining flesh looks…dead.”

Kurt could sense his husband’s unease at the topic of conversation through his skin as Blaine touched him, and he felt guilty that he had pushed him. Of course, Blaine could keep his secret for as long as he wished to. Kurt had no right to pry.

“As you wish, my lord,” Kurt said, truly sorry but sounding disappointed since he did not quite understand. The wet cloth disappeared from his skin and a dry one followed.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, patting Kurt’s skin dry, “the man who removed my leg was a butcher at an inn. Do you remember the one we stay at when we travel – The Rose and Crown?”

“Yes, my lord,” Kurt replied, bringing to mind the image of the crowded roadside inn that Blaine seemed to demand they stay at every time they traveled.

“Well, believe it or not, it was in much worse condition when I first encountered it. But several people there helped to save my life, so I have become their most generous benefactor.”

Blaine tossed the towel and turned Kurt to face him, his shirt already on and his pants pulled up. He reached for Kurt’s pants and helped his husband step into them.

“Anyway, my leg was removed by a butcher, not a doctor,” Blaine continued, and Kurt did his best not to gasp at the thought. “My horse had been shot, and I had no other choice than to leave him for dead, the poor beast. I was sick with a fever and drenched to the bone. I had no other choice, nowhere else to go.” Blaine brought Kurt his shirt now that his pants were on, and slipped it over his husband’s head. “I had seen an injury like mine before, when one of our servants had fallen accidentally into the smithy’s fire, and I knew the limb could not be saved. My only chance at surviving was to have it removed, but I couldn’t risk going to a doctor and having him refuse me.”

Blaine took up his cane and Kurt grabbed hold of a lamp. Quietly, both gentlemen left Blaine’s bedchamber and walked down the hallway to Kurt’s bedchamber, where they had to sleep in case Beth woke up and needed Kurt.

Blaine slept there because he needed Kurt, too.

“He chopped it off slightly above the knee,” Blaine went on in a hushed voice so as not to wake the sleeping girl in the next room, “and after, he gave me a place to stay while I convalesced. They did the best job they could looking after me there. They even fetched me a doctor, but I got terribly ill, and no one seemed to know what to do to make me well.”

Kurt climbed into bed, facing the wall so that Blaine could remove his false leg.

“What did they do?” Kurt asked, worried over the outcome of Blaine’s tale - nonsensically so considering that the man was standing in the same room with him.

“They couldn’t do anything,” Blaine said, climbing under the covers after he redressed. Kurt turned to face him, pressing his forehead against Blaine’s while he listened. “On the night that I was so hideously ill that everyone present thought I would die for certain, Carole Hudson showed up at the inn, looking for lodging.”

Blaine paused and Kurt frowned.

“Carole Hudson,” Kurt repeated. “Is that…Finn’s mother? Rachel’s Finn?”

“The same,” Blaine confirmed. “Her father had been a battlefield doctor in the army with no sons, so he taught his only daughter everything that he knew about medicine. She heard about me and begged the owner of the inn to see me, to see if she could help.”

“Why would she be so inclined to help a stranger?” Kurt asked. “Not that I am complaining, it’s just…serendipitous.”

“Not so much,” Blaine said. “She had stopped at The Rose and Crown on her way home from her husband’s funeral.”

“Oh,” Kurt said, dropping his eyes away from Blaine’s gaze. He had remembered that time of sadness when Finn’s father had passed and his mother needed to away because of it. The whole story had never been recounted for him, so the whys of her leaving hadn’t been explained. He just remembered seeing Finn and becoming more fond of him, thinking that Finn was like him – a son missing a parent.

“Yes,” Blaine said. “I think she needed to help me to help herself, if that makes any sense.”

“It does…and it doesn’t,” Kurt said. “But, please continue.”

Blaine grabbed Kurt’s arm and pulled it over his waist, keeping them connected, needing him close.

“She took care of me. She knew exactly what to do, and she arrived in time to save me, but much of the skin on my leg was necrotic, and she had to remove a lot of the remaining limb.”

“How much?” Kurt asked, afraid Blaine wouldn’t give him an answer.

But he did, reaching beneath the covers to find Kurt’s leg and mark a line on Kurt’s upper thigh with his index finger.

“Why so much?” Kurt asked in an unsteady voice. He hadn’t imagined that so much of Blaine’s leg was missing.

“To save my life, she had to get rid of all the dead flesh…and then some extra, to be sure.”

Kurt nodded, feeling himself on the verge of tears but unwilling to give in.

Blaine was alive, he was safe, and he was Kurt’s. His was a bittersweet story, but with a mostly happy ending – this was no time for Kurt’s tears.

“This is the debt you repaid by helping Finn and Rachel to marry?” Kurt asked as all the clues clicked into place. “But this happened years ago. Why wait so long to pay her back?”

“It’s not that I didn’t offer to repay her,” Blaine said. “I did, and quite a sum. But she didn’t want money. She already had a house and some property that wasn’t really worth much, but she had it nonetheless, and it would pass along to Finn when her time came. What she wanted was a better life for her son.”

“But would not the money have done that?” Kurt asked, kissing Blaine’s cheeks as a way to bury his sadness.

“Sometimes money isn’t all that is needed for that to happen,” Blaine explained. “Finn Hudson is not, shall we say, a book smart man, but he is very good with his hands. He made my first prosthetic…” Blaine gestured in the direction of where he kept his false limb, which helped for nothing since he always kept it covered when he didn’t wear it. “His best hope for a secure future was a trade. Finn just needed to find the right one, and when he did, he was apprenticed. It took him a little longer than anticipated, or he would have gotten the living I had set aside for him earlier.”

Kurt nodded, dazed and silent at Blaine’s tale.

“That is…incredible,” Kurt said. “I do not know what to say.”

Blaine grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t set the honey-gold in them to sparkle the way his smiles often did. It was a shadow brought about by the story he had told, all of its goods and bads, bringing them here to a point where a man in bed with his husband had fear of revealing his body to the one he cared for most.

“Actually…” Kurt said, “I do.” He brought his hands up to cradle Blaine’s head. “I know you don’t want me to see your leg because you think it disgusting. You think that it is something I should not see. But I am not delicate, Blaine. I will not break, and I will not run away…I promise.” Blaine’s eyes closed, his focus on the sound of Kurt’s voice as he spoke. “There is nothing about you that is disgusting or ugly, and you are no less a man without it.” And here, Kurt choked a little. “But, I see you in pain. Every day, this injury gives you pain, and I feel so helpless.” Blaine took Kurt’s hands from behind his head and kissed them, his eyes still closed. He didn’t need his eyes to see Kurt. He knew every line of him, every angle and every curve. “I want to help you, Blaine.”

“The pain will always be there, Kurt,” Blaine said. “There is nothing anyone can do to make it go away.”

Those words struck at the soul of Kurt, and his hopelessness showed on his face.

“But,” Blaine said, ducking his head to meet Kurt’s lowered eyes, “you are everything to me. Everything I need – simply by being my husband, and when I am with you, Kurt…there is no pain.”

It was a sweet thing for Blaine to say, but difficult for Kurt to believe when the evidence of Blaine’s agony was written all over his face.

“I wish that was true,” Kurt said.

“You are so stubborn,” Blaine laughed, pushing himself into Kurt’s arms, wrapping his husband’s arms around him. “Just because you don’t believe something, doesn’t make it untrue.”

Those words did not soothe Kurt, so Blaine tried kisses instead – the kisses Kurt was bereft from when they made love.

Kisses to the neck - slow trails from behind his ear to the juncture of his shoulder.

Kisses to the hand – starting from the wrist and traveling through the palm ending at the tip of each finger.

Kisses across his shoulder –returning to the start with his tongue sweeping across Kurt’s collarbone.

Kisses to his mouth – with words spoken softly against his lips.

Kisses that were gentle, and some that were urgent. Kisses that stoked the fire of Kurt’s desire for Blaine only enough to fill him with the warmth of his affection.

Blaine kissed his husband until any thought of tears and pain and heartache were erased from his mind, putting him at ease to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More mention of Blaine's leg. No gore.

Much of the plans for their vacation had changed following Beth’s arrival. It was Kurt’s and Blaine’s evenings out that were mainly affected. Their trip to the theater and the opera had been postponed since Beth was still not comfortable with the maids, and Kurt had no wish to leave her alone in the house if she was scared. Kurt devoted himself to his new daughter - reading her books, playing games with her, taking her for walks in the park, even touring the city in a rented barouche. Kurt dressed her to the nines and took her to meet all of the important families in their social circle, and it was agreed upon by all that Lord Anderson’s new daughter was as fetching as his new husband. Kurt and Beth became a fixture in high society – going to tea and playdates, attending book readings. Blaine made arrangements to extend their stay in London to accommodate all of Kurt’s plans for Beth. The pair of them went everywhere. They had even managed to get their picture featured in the society pages as the father and daughter to see and be seen with around the city.

Kurt was determined to see Beth accomplished, and Beth, for her part, soaked up all of Kurt’s teachings and attentions like a curly-haired little sponge.

Kurt did his best to persuade Blaine to join them on these outings, but Blaine never took Kurt up on any invitation – not one. Kurt dismissed Blaine’s disinterest in their activities at first as being due to the harrowing discomfort of his joints as the colder weather set in. Then Kurt thought it was Blaine slipping back into his old reclusive behaviors considering he never was one for crowded, big, showy events with all the grandeur (and people) that went along with them. But as he observed Blaine’s behavior more closely whenever Beth was near, Kurt began to see that maybe there was something else behind his detachment around the girl.

Beth began to notice, too. He had seemed so set on caring for her when they first met, sweeping in to rescue her from that horrific orphanage, but time seemed to harden him towards her. It saddened her to see Blaine leave the room almost the minute she entered into it, how he avoided her questions, or didn’t comment on the pretty dresses Kurt made for her, or the way he put her hair up out of her face to show off her eyes.

Blaine barely even looked in her eyes any more.

Blaine took his meals with them, but he spoke very little. In the evenings, he bid her a quiet good-night with a kiss on the forehead, but otherwise he would wait till Kurt read to Beth and she fell asleep before joining his husband in his room to read, or talk, or listen to Kurt and Marley jabber like old biddies while Kurt sewed new dresses for Beth or new suits for Blaine and himself.

They put forth the appearance of a happy family, except that if one looked closely, there was a hairline fissure forming between Blaine, and his husband and daughter.

And Kurt refused to let it continue.

* * *

 

Kurt made an effort to read the book in his hands. Kurt could expertly pass as a man engrossed in reading a novel. He was sitting up straight in bed, his book open, his lamp lit beside his him, but he could find no interest in the words. He snuck peeks now and again at Blaine in bed beside him, reading a missive sent to him by his steward. It looked to be the fourth or fifth time Blaine had read the letter, and his brow furrowed as he re-read the same passage over and over.

He heard Blaine huff and then sigh, finally folding the letter and setting it aside.

“Is there something wrong, my darling?” Kurt asked as Blaine lowered the flame on his lamp.

“What?” Blaine asked, his mind coming back from elsewhere, summoned by the sound of Kurt’s voice. “Oh, nothing for you to worry about, my love.” Blaine patted Kurt’s leg, but with an agitated smile on his lips.

Kurt caught Blaine’s hand before he could pull it away again.

“Please,” Kurt said, “tell me what it is.”

Blaine sighed. He had always said that Kurt was as much ‘lord of the manor’ as he. Now he had to prove that there was bearing behind those words.

“It seems there has been a spot of vandalism at one of my estates…not the manor in the country,” Blaine amended when Kurt’s eyes went wide, “and not where your sister resides. A smaller one. One that my father had purchased for what he claimed were _sentimental_ _reasons…_ ” Blaine made a face, putting bitter emphasis on those words. “But it has always remained empty. No one actually lives there.”

“That’s a relief!” Kurt gasped. “Less of a chance of anyone getting hurt.”

“Yes,” Blaine agreed. The conversation dropped when Blaine didn’t readily continue.

 “What happened?” Kurt asked, trying to prise the information out of him.

“Minor, silly things, really,” Blaine said, though a cloud in his eyes told Kurt that Blaine felt something more sinister might be afoot. “Some game animals on the property have been poached – throats cut, bodies left to bleed out all over the ground. Some windows had been broken. That kind of petty damage.”

“Well…what will you do, my lord?”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done about the vandalism,” Blaine said. “We can’t determine when the damage took place. The perpetrators could be anywhere by now. I am going to sell the property anyway. It was never on any favorable land. It is kind of a deficit to maintain its upkeep anyway. Best be rid of it, and the vandals, all in one fell swoop.”

Kurt nodded. Maybe Blaine had seen something in this deed that Kurt did not, but it seemed like he had a handle on it.

“How is your book coming along?” Blaine asked to lighten the mood.

“Dreadful,” Kurt answered hastily, his mind also occupied elsewhere.

“Really?” Blaine said, looking surprised. “I thought you had been enjoying it.” Blaine’s eyes darted to the volume in Kurt’s hands. “You’ve gotten so far into it already.”

"My lord,” Kurt started since he had the benefit of his husband’s attention, “I have been wanting to talk with you.”

“Yes, my love?”

Blaine held Kurt’s hand tighter, but it felt as if he was squeezing at Kurt’s heart.

“We need to talk about Beth," Kurt said, speaking the words quickly lest he lose his nerve, or put it off for one more day due to his husband’s obvious weariness.

“Why?” Blaine asked, looking down, suddenly interested in their joined hands on the bed. “Is there something the matter with her?”

“Wouldn’t you know, my lord?”

“Why should I?” Blaine asked.

“Exactly, Blaine. Why should you?”

Kurt had set a trap and Blaine had walked right into it.

Blaine closed his eyes, putting his free hand to his forehead.

“Kurt, I don’t have the energy to…”

"Why do you not spend time with her, my lord?” Kurt asked. “Why do you not play with her, or read to her, or show her love and affection?"

“Kurt…”

“She wants your attention, Blaine!” Kurt pleaded. “Desperately! Please, do not deny her.”

“It is not my intention to deny her,” Blaine said, the harsh tone in his voice one of frustration more than anger for want of squelching his own desperation instead of letting it flourish. “I have a good number of reasons why I don’t burden her with my affection.”

“Burden her, my lord?” Kurt asked, aghast. “How can affection be a burden?”

"Because, Kurt, I…I cannot…” Blaine’s voice shook but he continued on. “I cannot look at her, Kurt.”

“What a horrible thing to say!” Kurt gasped. “And what a horrible thing to do, punishing that poor girl because she reminds you of her mother!”

“It’s not because she reminds me of her mother,” Blaine said between clenched teeth.

“Then why, my lord?” Kurt pressed. “If you will not confess it to her, please, confess it to me so that I may know what to say when she asks after you over and over!”

“I cannot look at her, Kurt,” Blaine said, his entire body shrinking beneath Kurt’s gaze, “because she reminds me of...her father..."

Kurt fumed before the words truly hit his ears.

“Well, I think it is awful that you would…wait…what?”

Blaine took a deep breath, filling his lungs to bursting, and then let it out slowly. He turned to face his husband fully.

“There is something that I’ve been meaning to tell you, my love,” Blaine began, “about Beth.”

Kurt closed his book and set it aside, turning to his husband, giving him his undivided attention.

“What is it, my lord?” Kurt asked, his body crippled with a sudden fear that he might lose this little girl. It was irrational and unfounded, but it was the first thing that leapt to his mind, and he was not sure that he could stand to hear any truth from Blaine’s lips that would steal his Beth away from him.

“She is not mine,” Blaine confessed.

Kurt's heart stuttered, and then seized.

“But…what?” Kurt asked, horrified.

“She is not mine,” he repeated softer.

“B-but…she looks exactly like you,” Kurt sputtered. “In another life, you and that child could be twins.”

“I know, Kurt,” Blaine said with unspoken apologies in his voice.

“But…then, who does she belong to, Blaine?” Kurt asked in a panic. “Are they…are they going to come and try to take her away from us? Because they can’t, Blaine…”

Blaine held Kurt’s hand and tried to calm him, pulling his worried husband into his embrace.

“Shhh,” Blaine said, running a hand through Kurt’s hair, “shhh, worry not, my love. There is no one to take her from us.”

Kurt settled down, but shook his head against Blaine’s chest, not quick to believe that someone wouldn’t be out scouring the streets for that beautiful little girl.

If he had lost Beth, there wouldn’t be a force in this world that would keep him from her.

“Why, Blaine?” Kurt asked. “Why should no one come to claim her?”

“Because she belongs to my brother, Kurt…my late brother.” Blaine’s words stopped Kurt’s struggling. He lifted his head from off his husband’s chest and stared at him, his expression disquietingly blank.

“Explain,” Kurt said, his voice tight. “Explain this to me.”

Blaine looked to where Kurt had rejoined their hands, despite his mixed feelings of anger and distress.

“It seems that I have been telling you a lot of tales lately,” Blaine said sheepishly, “and none of them happy.”

“Maybe there wouldn’t be so many, my lord, if you had told them to me from the start.”

“I know, I know,” Blaine said, bending to kiss Kurt’s hands in an offer of apology, “and I am so sorry.”

“Tell me the tale, Blaine,” Kurt said, his body’s trembling shaking the bed.

Blaine sat and looked straight into his husband’s eyes since he knew Kurt needed to see his conviction, to see that the story he was about to impart was the whole truth as he knew it, with nothing left out.

“Beth is my brother’s daughter,” Blaine said, “by a dear, dear friend, Miss Quinn Fabray.”  Blaine paused for a moment to gather the memories clearly in his mind, so he would leave nothing out in the telling. “My brother met her while he was away at university, and they became close very quickly. She was such a wonderful woman, and as beloved to me as Rachel is to you.” Blaine saw Kurt swallow hard and he knew Kurt understood. “They were so much in love, and even though my father did not approve, they became engaged, in secret. I did not know that she was pregnant until after my brother had died.” Another pause as Blaine took another deep, strengthening breath. “Distraught and depressed to the point of almost hurting herself, she took up with a man of ill-repute, who abused her horribly. I offered to take the child immediately, but she refused to be parted from her. Instead, I gave her the means to run away from him and hide, which she did. So well, in fact, that she and her daughter have been gone from me for all these many years.”

“But, how did you find her?” Kurt asked, relieved that his Beth was safe from all the horrors of the world as long as she lay in bed but feet away from where he sat.

“Quite by accident, I assure you,” Blaine said, the chuckle accompanying that statement dry and humorless. He looked into his husband’s eyes, reluctant to tell, but he needed to stop keeping secrets from his beloved. “Brittany told me one night when we were…”

Kurt put a hand up. He knew where this was headed. He didn’t need it spelled out.

“I…I was drunk,” Blaine stumbled, avoiding the parts of the story that would be painful for Kurt to hear, “and rambling on about Quinn and Beth and my brother, and Brittany mentioned knowing a woman who fit her description, who had a little girl, whose tale mirrored mine but with the exception that she did not call herself Quinn. She called herself Lucy.”

“Did Brittany ever tell Quinn that she… _knew_ you?” Kurt asked carefully, but for his own sake.

“I think the discussion came up,” Blaine answered, having the sense to look contrite, which he was, wholeheartedly.

He knew that he needed to be honest with Kurt, but he wasn’t sure if he would ever find the courage to tell his husband that many a time he spent with those disreputable men and women were to fuck his memories of Kurt away.

“I was arranging to move her to the house. She said she had had enough running, enough of being afraid and poor. Her money was spent, mostly in an effort to keep this man from ever finding her. Running from him took her to places - made her do things - that she was not proud of.”

"I can't even imagine," Kurt said sympathetically, frightened to think of what a woman on the run might be forced to do to survive.

“Before I could move her, she disappeared again,” Blaine said, “and I didn’t hear anything about her till the night of our ball.”

“You said she died,” Kurt said. “What of?”

“I am not sure,” Blaine said with a shrug. “The note I received from Brittany didn’t indicate a cause, but I have my suspicions.”

“You don’t think…” Kurt’s eyes became watery and he shook his head, “that… _he_ killed her?”

“That’s precisely what I think,” Blaine admitted.

“Who is he?” Kurt asked. “Do you know?”

“He calls himself Puck,” Blaine said, spitting the name from his lips like a curse. “That’s all I know.”

“But…why didn’t you tell me she was not yours?”

“Because I was beside myself with the news of Quinn's passing,” Blaine said, “and when I came home with that poor girl, all I wanted was you, but you were so cruel, I was so stupid, and we’re both so…so pigheaded…”

Kurt thought Blaine’s story over, repeating passages of it in his head, conjuring images of a young woman who looked like Beth but with golden blonde hair and fair skin, and her exact green eyes, caring for that child, alone and frightened, forced into an acquaintance with a world that treats unmarried young women savagely - that chews them to pieces instead of offering them any protection – especially ones with an illegitimate child.

“That is all the more reason for you to go to her,” Kurt said, “to love her and protect her, and tell her about her father and the wonderful man he was, and what a great father he would have been!” Kurt swallowed the start of what would be inconsolable grief over this entire situation. “You could be that wonderful father in absentia, Blaine. You have it in you. I know it.”

Blaine shook his head at Kurt’s passionate appeal and exultation of his character.

“You, my love, have been an incredible father to her thus far,” Blaine said. “I couldn’t have asked for a more competent surrogate. You are loving and attentive…”

“Do you think I come to that naturally?” Kurt argued. “I had wonderful, loving, attentive parents…”

“Exactly, Kurt,” Blaine cut in. “You had the kind of parents that every child should have. So did my brother. But me…” Blaine shook his head. “I did not.”

Kurt was too overwhelmed by Blaine’s admission to speak, slowly shaking his head with his lips parted should he think of some appropriate way to respond, but every word had inexplicably failed him.

“By the time I came along into my parents’ lives, my family was a wreck. The only thing the two of them could agree on was that they loved my brother, that he was an excellent child, and that he would someday make an exceptional earl.” Blaine almost didn’t continue. He felt drained of his energy. His emotions had sucked him dry. But the husk of a human that he was knew he had to finish.

Kurt needed to understand all of it - this messed up man that he married and this insane family name that he now bore.

“It had long been suspected by my mother that my father had been cheating on her. He took long trips to France and would be gone for months at a time. But there was nothing my mother could do. She was told on several occasions to expect it. It went along with the territory of being a countess – unfaithful husbands. She couldn’t leave him, but she wouldn’t have anyway. She loved him.”

For lack of words, Kurt nodded – a repetitive bobbing of his head, a lame response that offered no solace.

Blaine looked up at Kurt with eyes that had suddenly become young and careworn.

“My father loathed me, Kurt,” Blaine said, his voice fracturing. “He thought me a weak, incompetent fool.”

Kurt surged forward and threw his arms around Blaine, unable to bear hearing more if he didn’t have Blaine in his arms.

“Why?” Kurt asked.

“Because I didn’t want to have a title,” Blaine said. “I wanted nothing to do with being a lord.”

“What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to be a musician,” Blaine said, “but that was not smart enough for my father. He would not have it. He went to great lengths to destroy my love of playing the pianoforte.”

Kurt didn’t feel it right to ask. Blaine would tell him in his own time, but for now, that explained his hatred – or was it fear? – of the pianoforte downstairs.

“So, you see, Kurt, I cannot be a father to Beth. I do not know how.”

“Yes, you can,” Kurt said. “I know you can.”

“I don’t…I don’t want to end up treating her the way my father treated me,” Blaine said.

“Why do you think you will, my darling?” Kurt asked, certain that this was an easy problem to solve.

“Because I did it to you,” Blaine said quietly. “Because I treated you that way. I ignored you, and was cruel to you, and took away things that you loved.”

Kurt wanted to object – strenuously object – but the words caught and he sobbed. He could not help it when the tears began to run down his cheeks.

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine said, pulling back to look into his husband’s face. “Please, do not cry.”

“How can I not?” Kurt asked. “How many times do you intend on breaking my heart in one lifetime?”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, raising Kurt’s hands to his face and laying kisses across his knuckles. “I truly am. I cannot even tell you how sorry…”

Kurt felt silly crying. So very little of this was Blaine’s fault. Here he was being honest, making amends, and Kurt was weeping like a child.

But he wept not for himself. He wept for a much younger Blaine who didn’t have his father’s love. For Cooper, who had a daughter he would never know. For Quinn, who died too young, and so far parted from the man she loved.

And Beth – sweet, innocent Beth. Her story was the most heart-wrenching of all.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt moaned, tears rolling hot down his cheeks. Kurt put up his hands to hide his face, but Blaine wouldn’t allow it.

“Do not hide your face from me,” Blaine whispered, kissing each tear as it broke free from Kurt’s eyes and carrying it away on his lips. “Please…not ever…”

Blaine put a hand on the small of Kurt’s back and drew Kurt to him. He felt Kurt melt against him as he ran his lips and his tongue down the length of Kurt’s throat, attempting to pull Kurt back from the past and into the present, where his husband waited, hoping to relieve this woeful sting. A moan escaped Kurt’s throat. Blaine quickly captured Kurt’s lips, greedy for it. Another followed - the sound entering Blaine’s body through their joined mouths and settling in his chest, folding over his heart.

“I wish I could un-break your heart, Kurt,” Blaine said between kisses. “I do.”

Before Kurt relinquished Blaine’s lips, he felt Kurt take his hand.

“Maybe you can,” Kurt offered, his skin coloring from his cheeks down his neck.

Pulling Blaine forward, he boldly lay Blaine back on his bed, locking Blaine’s gaze with his own, enticing Blaine with sad but hungry eyes. Kurt raised Blaine’s hands to his waist in a silent request to undress him. Blaine attempted to oblige, his fingers tripping over themselves as he fumbled with the ties and buttons on Kurt’s pants. Kurt pulled them down and kicked them off, tossing them uncharacteristically to the floor. Blaine immediately attacked Kurt’s shirt. He slipped his hands underneath the silky material to caress Kurt’s silkier white skin, bringing his hands up to toy with Kurt’s nipples. Blaine watched Kurt arch his back, a contented sigh issuing from his pursed lips. Kurt’s eyelids fluttered closed as he enjoyed the attentions of Blaine’s hands against his skin. Blaine bucked up beneath him so that his husband could feel how much he wanted him, how quickly something simple like undressing could stoke the fire within him.

Kurt opened his eyes, and Blaine pulled Kurt to the bed, pushing him forward to lie on his stomach. Kurt turned quickly, taking Blaine’s face in his hands.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. I want to see your face.”

“Kurt…” Blaine protested, his face crumbling. 

“No, my lord. I don’t give a damn about the leg,” Kurt said, interrupting Blaine’s protestations. “I just…I desire to make love to my husband. I need to see your handsome face.”

Blaine swallowed and nodded. Between a rain of kisses, Kurt started to undress Blaine, taking care as he lifted his shirt over his head. With an insistent hand to his shoulder, Kurt pushed Blaine down upon the mattress.

Kurt leaned over him, well aware of Blaine’s eyes raking shamelessly over his body, his undershirt the only piece of clothing left to be removed.

“Show me what to do, my lord,” Kurt whispered into his ear. 

Kurt’s breath on Blaine’s skin almost unraveled him completely. He put his hands to the hem of Kurt’s undershirt and began to lift the fabric from his skin. Kurt put a hand over his, removing the fabric from his fingers.

“Like this?” Kurt asked, relieving Blaine of his task and pulling the white undershirt over his head to reveal his naked body.

“Yes,” Blaine nodded, unable to dislodge the words forming in his throat and speak them correctly. Blaine lay stunned, paralyzed by the image of the angel sitting naked above him, drinking in his beauty.

Kurt took advantage of Blaine’s stupor to start removing his pants, steeling himself now that the moment had come. They had been lying in bed reading in preparation for sleep so Blaine’s prosthetic was an obstacle that Kurt didn’t have to concern himself with. Kurt began to peel the pants from Blaine’s body. He felt the moment when Blaine’s breathing stopped. Kurt concentrated on his own hands working above Blaine’s flat stomach. He pulled the pants down an inch and halted.

Marks and scars covered the skin just above Blaine’s hips. They crossed the flesh in horizontal lines – dug in deep, old marks under new ones, none given the chance to properly heal.

“My lord,” Kurt said, running delicate fingers over the angry marks.

“It’s from…the straps,” Blaine explained. “They’re a little too tight…”

Kurt nodded and didn’t linger. He knew that he could probably fix the straps for him. He would have to find a way to get his hands on Blaine’s false limb without him objecting too vehemently. Kurt bent and kissed the marks. Blaine moaned at the touch of his husband’s soft caress on his stomach.

“Kurt,” he breathed, begging him as much to continue as he was asking him to stop.

But Kurt wasn’t about to stop. He had come too far. This wasn’t about Blaine’s leg. The leg didn’t matter. This was about making love to his husband – about seeing his face, about touching his body, about having him – all of him.

Further down Blaine’s hips Kurt moved to give himself room to remove Blaine’s pants. He pulled them off quickly, not giving Blaine a chance to change his mind and stop him. Kurt tossed Blaine’s pants to the floor and there it was – Blaine’s severed left leg. He looked at it, scolding himself if he felt he was staring, locking his jaw to keep it from dropping.

Blaine was right – it looked dead. The stump of his leg – what there was to see of it – was ghostly. Parts of it were red, rubbed raw by the fake limb and however it connected to the stump, but otherwise it was just white skin over a section of his body that looked like a normal leg with not enough to it. Kurt looked from it to Blaine’s face, but Blaine had averted his eyes to the ceiling, and he still held his breath.

Kurt climbed over his body, letting his half-hard cock slide alongside Blaine’s flaccid member, and leaned low to kiss Blaine’s neck.

“Breathe, my darling,” Kurt whispered. “Look at me. I’m still here. It’s all over now, and I’m still here.”

Blaine turned his face while Kurt kissed him - mimicking Blaine’s practice of kissing a trail up the column of his neck followed by a sweep of his tongue. When Kurt caught sight of Blaine’s smoldering golden eyes, they were wet with tears – a sign of his self-conscious rearing its ugly head to tell him how mortified his young husband would be to see this part of him. Kurt smiled.

“Hello, my lord,” he whispered.

“Hello, my love,” Blaine returned, not yet able to find his smile.

Kurt reached between them and took the length of Blaine’s desire in his hand, coaxing it to hardness with careful strokes. He stopped a moment to reach over to his bedside and grab his ampoule of oil. He had taken to keeping it there so that trips across the room to the vanity at crucial moments were no longer necessary. He coated his hand, coated Blaine’s cock, and kissed Blaine’s hateful thoughts of himself away.

“Can you guide me, my lord?” Kurt whispered. “I’m not sure how I am to do this.”

“I think you are doing fine so far,” Blaine said, content to allow Kurt to explore the realms of this particular sexual pleasure on his own for a while. But Kurt was as shy as he was daring, and committed to making love to his husband this way even though his hands shook. Blaine stopped Kurt with a gentle hand, grabbing his hips and pulling his husband on top of him. He positioned the head of his cock at Kurt’s breach and held it so that Kurt could slide down upon him. Kurt hummed and moaned as he inched down, moving slowly more for pleasure than to avoid pain, because each time more of Blaine’s cock entered Kurt’s body, it opened him up to new sensations. Kurt’s knees wobbled. Blaine filled him more at this new angle, touching new places that made him weak.

Blaine felt the warmth of Kurt’s body engulf him. Kurt was so hot and so tight it was almost painful when they began, before Blaine got used to the intense squeeze around him. Kurt settled in Blaine’s lap and threw his head back at the thickness of Blaine inside him. His legs shook and he fell forward to Blaine’s chest.

“Oh my…” Kurt eeked out, unable to move for a moment while his body got used to this position.

But Blaine couldn’t keep his body still. He held Kurt’s hips and rocked beneath him, and Kurt was content to sit in Blaine’s lap and ride the ripple of Blaine’s movements. Several times Kurt tried to rise up and take control, but it was too sublime making love this way – laying on Blaine’s chest, his cock wedged between their bodies, bathed in friction every time Blaine’s body bucked up and down, up and down. The slow drag and Blaine’s cock moving in and out of his body was relaxing – their bodies swaying as one, not coming apart and then crashing together. Blaine made no demands on him, didn’t ask him move or change positions, and Kurt felt himself slip into a place where time began to slow, and then stop. 

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt mumbled, “why did we not do this before?”

“Because I am a dumb man, my love,” Blaine grunted, moving a hair faster as constant waves of pleasure rolled through him. “A dumb, dumb man.”

Kurt laughed, and he sat up in Blaine’s lap to look at him. Kurt took over as much as he was able, rising up on his knees until he felt his husband’s cock almost leave him, and then sitting down slowly to enjoy all the places in between that his length could touch. Blaine’s hands left Kurt’s hips to explore his body all over – climbing up his stomach and his chest, scratching lightly back down the way they came. He stroked Kurt’s cock, his fingers fondling at first just the head, then working down to the base, up and down, twisting slightly, taking the advantage to pay special attention to his husband’s cock in ways he hadn’t done before. Ways that made Kurt writhe uncontrollably, made it almost impossible for him to keep moving when all he wanted to do was sink down and concentrate on Blaine’s hands roaming over his body.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt moaned, his hands reaching out, grabbing restlessly at anything that he could touch. It was so much, it was _too_ much, it was not enough. He didn’t know how it could possibly be all three at the same time. He stared down at Blaine, meeting his gaze – smoky and dark, their raw edge slicing straight through Kurt, leaving him open and bare. He was naked, writhing, begging in ways he didn’t understand for his husband to own him, to control him, to make him feel. Oh, the amount of immoral things he’d be willing to do if his husband could make him cum at this point were astounding when he thought of them. That heated look in his husband’s eyes made Kurt feel different, beautiful in ways he didn’t know he could be beautiful. Blaine licked his lips, and Kurt had to kiss him. Bending over changed all the sensations, changed everything, made them more intense. His husband’s tongue licking his lips, slipping inside his mouth, stole every inch of willpower he had.

“Blaine,” Kurt exhaled into his mouth and he came, chanting Blaine’s name against his lips. As Kurt shuddered through his orgasm, Blaine held Kurt’s hips and pounded up into him. Kurt groaned. It was sadistic in the way it made Kurt over-sensitive, bordering on the point where it hurt – until it didn’t, and while Blaine came, Kurt moaned again – moaned so loud he was fit to wake to whole household, and Blaine laughed, burying his head into his husband’s shoulder to muffle the sound.

“Are you laughing at me, my lord?” Kurt squealed in horror.

“No, my love,” Blaine choked between laughs. “Not at all.”

“Ah!” Kurt exclaimed, swatting at his husband’s chest with his hands as he tried to pull himself away from Blaine’s iron grip around his waist. “You incomprehensible ass!”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, unable to stop chuckling as Kurt squirmed and struggled. “I am so sorry. It will never happen again, my love.”

“You’re damned right it won’t,” Kurt said, starting to chuckle himself, “because I am never having sex with you again!”

Blaine grabbed a hold of Kurt’s midsection and rolled Kurt on his back, pinning him down and looking into his red face.

“Don’t say that,” Blaine whispered, pecking kisses along the contours of Kurt’s mouth, kissing his ire away.

“Why not?” Kurt asked, feeling his body relax beneath Blaine’s.

“Because I do not think I could live a life where I did not have the privilege of making love to you,” Blaine said, covering Kurt’s mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs with his next kiss.

The air between them grew tense as the kiss ended, charged and electric with the things hovering in it, left unsaid, and for some reason Kurt suddenly preferred the laughing, playful Blaine. He wanted him back.

“So, is that the way you prefer for your men to make love to you?” Kurt purred into Blaine’s ear with a wicked grin. Instead of discharging the tension with his ribald comment, it seemed to ratchet it up. Blaine ran his nose down the length of Kurt’s neck, breathing his husband in, losing himself in the fragrance of his husband’s hair, the feeling of his body pressed against him. 

“No man has ever made love to me that way,” Blaine muttered.

Kurt looked into Blaine’s face and his smile fell.

“Is there something wrong, my lord?” he asked. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, Kurt…I…” Blaine shook his head and chuckled, his emotions too mixed for him to explain even one of them to Kurt. “I’m tired…that’s all.” Blaine’s hand went to his cheek and caught a tear before it had the chance to fall. “I think we’ve enjoyed enough emotional upheaval for this evening, don’t you, my love?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I have decided not to cry again for the next fifty years!” Kurt said, slipping privately from confusion back to lighthearted jesting, to bring his husband back from wherever it was that his mind wandered off to when Blaine looked at him that way.

* * *

 

Kurt cleaned them up this time, hopping out of bed before his husband could even think of it. He filled up the basin with water, soaking a clean cloth in it until it was saturated. He bathed Blaine lazily from head to toe. He combed pomade through his raven locks with his fingers until they gleamed. It wasn’t something Blaine would normally use on himself, but he had no intention of saying no to Kurt’s insistence on pampering him. Kurt tended to the bruises on Blaine’s stomach, using a special oil he had bought in London years ago. He had fallen in a brier patch chasing Marley during a game of tag. He got a cut across his cheek that he was afraid would be permanent, and purchased the oil at great expense in the hopes that he wouldn’t be scarred for life.

Luckily, it worked like a charm.

After he had treated those cuts, he moved on to the sores on Blaine’s leg. Blaine stiffened when he saw what Kurt intended to do, shaking his head without speaking, but a single touch of Kurt’s hands to his skin wiped every fear he had away.

Kurt held Blaine in his arms and rubbed his back, and without knowing, they fell asleep naked, entwined in each other’s arms.

In the middle of the night, Kurt woke to a warm, gentle pressure on his chest. Fearing that little Beth had suffered one of her many nightmares and climbed into bed with them, he opened his eyes, focusing in the dim light of the room around him. It wasn’t Beth’s small frame he saw cuddled beside him, but the head of his husband resting on his chest as though he were a pillow. Kurt smiled, thinking that maybe Blaine was trying to lure him out of his sleep to make love to him again. But Blaine wasn’t kissing him. He seemed to be whispering against his chest, over his heart.

Kurt thought momentarily of letting Blaine know he was awake, but then he realized that whatever it was Blaine was saying might not be for him to hear. He lay back and fell quickly asleep with a smile that now his heart was the keeper of Blaine’s secrets.

 

 


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for a scene involving minor violence and anxiety.

Kurt was becoming spoiled, and he knew it.

He slept infinitely better now that he did so with his husband’s naked body snaked around his own – no boundaries, no borders, nothing hidden. Blaine’s skin was smooth and his body warm, and his favorite place in the world seemed to be by his husband’s side with his head resting on Kurt’s chest.

Blaine still had pain in his joints (Kurt had yet to find an opportunity to abscond with Blaine’s false leg and fix the straps for him), but Kurt was satisfied with the knowledge that his husband found comfort in him – whether it came from sleeping together, wrapped around each other like vines, from Kurt’s soothing touch as he massaged Blaine’s skin, or from making love the way they did every night, with Kurt atop his husband’s body, staring into his eyes.

Beth slept through the night on her own, so they had little to worry that she would sneak into bed with them while they were indecent, but being the polite girl she was, she always knocked anyway.

Kurt had started to love his life – this happy world that had blossomed around him while he had stood in the center, rebelling so hard against it. Kurt learned that life thrives in conflict and struggles against adverse conditions to survive…as does love.

Kurt loved Beth – loved her more than his own life.

And Kurt loved Blaine.

He had loved Blaine once, so he knew it was possible, but he had entered into this marriage detesting the man Blaine had become – a man that Kurt scarcely knew. _Learning_ to love this new Blaine made _being_ in love with him all the more sweet.

But perhaps he had loved Blaine all along, he was just too… _how had Blaine put it?_ …pigheaded to realize it.

No matter. He was at a place where he could confidently say that he loved his husband, loved him fully and completely, loved him in life and death, loved him with all of his heart.

He just had to figure out a way to tell him.

There was, of course, the matter of whether or not Blaine loved him back. It seemed he did. He implied it every day. He called Kurt his _love_ , but the words _I love you_ had yet to be declared.

That didn’t mean that Kurt couldn’t say it first, of course, but Kurt wanted it to be special. He wanted to do it during a time and at a place that would add the appropriate amount of gravitas to the words. Maybe that shouldn’t matter, as long as the sentiment was expressed, but when Kurt daydreamed about telling Blaine he loved him for the first time, it wasn’t someplace common like the dining room table.

_“What exquisite ham we are having for breakfast! I love you. Can you please pass the custard?”_

No.

He could say it here, in their bedroom – this sanctuary they had created - after making love, while they lay together in bed. He could say it while holding Blaine in his arms, say it till his tongue went dry from overuse and his voice faded in his throat. But for the moment, Blaine was asleep – completely exhausted from the previous day’s jaunt.

A picnic in the park with Beth – a picnic that Blaine attended.

It didn’t start out too encouragingly.

Blaine held himself stiffly, looking extremely uncomfortable, and poor little Beth didn’t know how to talk to him, so each glued themselves to one side of Kurt and didn’t readily acknowledge the other’s presence past a simple civil _hello_.

Kurt knew that Blaine would not get over his reluctance unless he was pushed, and though it hurt his heart to do it to him, Kurt pretended he had forgotten something at the manor and left the two alone while he went for a walk.

Kurt considered all the possible outcomes in his head while he took a turn around the green grass and the trees. He had no idea how long it would take to cultivate a relationship between the two, as resistant as Blaine seemed to the occupation of guardian. Days? Weeks? Months?

The best he could hope for upon his return was that both would still be there when he arrived.

But he needn’t have worried, because for all of Blaine’s concerns about his abilities as a parent, he discounted the one thing that could have helped him all along – the fact that he and Beth had a tremendous amount in common, starting with all of the people in their lives that they loved.

Kurt didn’t know exactly what transpired during the time he was gone, and with identical sly smiles both Blaine and Beth refused to tell, claiming that it was their secret, but they were singing when he returned and Beth was dancing, twirling in place till her skirts billowed out like a balloon, looking as though a swift breeze might steal her away if they weren’t careful.

They stayed out late and enjoyed every last inch of sunlight the day had to offer. Beth held Blaine’s hand on the walk home, helping him avoid cracks in the stones and potholes when they popped up. Both father and daughter yawned all throughout dinner. Kurt started to fear that he wouldn’t have his husband that night, as tired as he seemed. They both tucked Beth in, and Blaine read her a story, after which, an elated Blaine dragged Kurt to bed, smiling and laughing, claiming Kurt’s mouth and his body, incandescently happy.

Blaine was asleep with that incandescent smile fixed to his face, and Kurt would love nothing more than to spend the day in bed with him, but he had already arranged an outing for Beth, and he could not cancel.

There was also another thing – something Kurt was certain that Blaine would not object to, something that he wanted to do for himself, to prove that he had put his past behind him and was sincerely ready to jump with both feet into his beautiful new future.

* * *

 

The process of extracting himself from his husband’s body was excruciatingly time consuming, but hilarious as well. Once he had successfully removed a limb of Blaine’s from around his person, it would wind around him somewhere else. At a point when he thought he would finally be able to break away, Blaine muttered and whined, sounding remarkably like a two-year-old, then lashed out both arms and grabbed Kurt again. Eventually Kurt had to resort to carefully tickling Blaine beneath both arms until he scooted far enough away from Kurt for him to spring out of bed and be free, but he felt guilty that his husband had no one to hold on to, so he wrapped Blaine’s arm around his pillow, leaving Blaine with the comfort of his scent.

Kurt dressed quickly in one of the finer day suits he had designed and made, as the day seemed to warrant it. He looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror and smiled. If Blaine were awake, Kurt would not be dressed in this suit for long. The material was soft to the touch and a deep shade of blue.

Blaine adored him in blue.

Kurt straightened his ascot, tamed a few stray hairs on his head, and declared himself to be dressed. Happy with his appearance, he peeked into Beth’s room to rouse her, but the girl was already out of bed. Kurt looked his last at his snoozing husband, amazed at how young he looked in sleep, how untroubled. Kurt prayed for that for him all of the time – more days carefree than full of strife. Kurt had a long and busy day ahead of him, but he found himself wishing it away, eager for the evening when he would get to revel in Blaine’s touch and the feel of strong arms around him.

Kurt blew the sleeping man a kiss, then headed downstairs to find his little girl.

“Beth!” Kurt called as he walked through the lower level of the manor. “Beth, darling!”

He had yet to see a curl of her hair, but he heard a cascade of footsteps following him when he walked, along with a flurry of muffled giggles every time he stopped. He caught Marley’s eye as she made her way to the kitchen carrying a stack of dirty dishes, pinching her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing.

“Marley,” Kurt called to his maid in a sing-song voice, “have you seen young Miss Beth this morning?”

Kurt heard more giggles and almost broke into laughter himself.

Marley paused, her cheeks turning red, but she put on a straight face and gazed thoughtfully toward the ceiling.

“You know, now that you mention it, milord, I have not,” Marley answered back.

More giggles, louder this time, not even taking the effort to be hushed.

“That is so strange,” Kurt said. He turned to one side slowly, but his every step was followed, the girl in the lavender dress keeping herself cleverly concealed behind his body with every step he took.

“What is strange, milord?” Marley asked, enjoying herself too much to care at all if the plates she was carrying ever made it to the kitchen or not.

“Well, I thought I had a little girl,” he said, walking in a circle in the opposite direction, the tiny footfalls keeping pace, even when he moved quicker. “With pretty raven curls…” He spun quickly around, almost catching the swing of her skirt, but she managed to fly behind him. “…wearing her new lavender dress…” He spun in the opposite direction, but the girl, choking on unrestrained laughter, slid around his back, almost losing control and getting caught. The plates in Marley’s hands clattered together as she began to laugh, watching Kurt spin in circles while the girl behind him raced back and forth trying not to be seen.

Finally, he stopped, shifting his eyes left and right. The giggles behind him grew in anticipation of his next move when suddenly Kurt reached his arms out backward and grabbed the girl by the hands. She chirped in surprise, and then laughed out loud heartily – a far different sound than the hollow laugh she brought with her from the orphanage when she barely had any meat on her bones.

“You found me, milord!” she cried with delight.

“I did,” Kurt said, taking a knee and tickling her to hear her laugh out the louder. “But you didn’t make it easy on me.”

“I was not trying to!” She hopped away on sturdy black leather boots and Kurt took a moment to admire what a dainty little lady she appeared.

Kurt stood, brushing off his knees, and offered Beth his hand.

“Will you be out, milord?” Marley asked as the two made their way back through the manor.

“We will,” Kurt called over his shoulder. “Please do not disturb his lordship, but let him know I am out as soon as he wakes.”

“Yes, milord,” her voice echoed as they walked toward the front door.

“What shall we do today, milord?” Beth asked.

“Oh, I have in mind a great many number of things, my little love,” Kurt said cheerfully, handing the girl her white gloves. “I thought a walk in the park, maybe lunch with Lady de Bourg and her son…” Kurt wiggled his eyebrows and Beth rolled her eyes. Kurt refused to play match maker, especially to so young a child, but it couldn’t be overlooked that a match with the de Bourg’s would be a favorable one. However, tucked away in a dark recess of his mind, the Kurt from his life before Blaine and before titles scowled at how easily he’d begun to blend in with the aristocrats. “But first, I thought we’d go out for a pasty. There’s a bakery I’ve been longing to try…” Kurt helped Beth on with her coat, doing up the buttons as he spoke, “and it would be a good opportunity to surprise his lordship with a loaf of his favorite bread…and maybe a cookie or two.”

“Or four?” Beth put in, pulling her long curls out from her collar, and Kurt laughed.

“Or a dozen,” Kurt added, pulling on his coat and top hat.

Kurt took Beth’s hand and smiled as the butler opened the door for them. They stepped out into the brisk morning air. Kurt inhaled deep and sighed, his breath issuing from his mouth in a white cloud – like that couple Blaine had pointed out to him the other night.

Adam and his fiance.

What Kurt had told Blaine – that he hadn’t mentioned the engagement when he first heard of it because he didn’t think his husband would be interested - was true. But he also didn’t want to admit that the news had stung him a little – not so much his heart, but his pride.

Adam had once looked upon Kurt as if he were the most enchanting person to ever walk the planet. He complimented him constantly, hung on every word he spoke. That kind of adoration is infectious. Kurt was certain it could turn into love if he let it. But to hear that this man could switch his affections so easily from one person to another was a bruise to Kurt’s ego that he was too embarrassed to admit to.

Though no amount of mooneyes from Adam could compare with the way Blaine looked upon Kurt – as if the light of creation dawned every morning in his eyes, and a single command from his lips would pull the stars from the sky.

Kurt knew he’d have to get this reunion over with sooner or later. It was adolescent to exist in such close vicinity to one another and behave like the other didn’t exist. Kurt was no longer in any danger of losing himself now over the fickle affections of Adam Crawford, especially since the object of Kurt’s affections had changed as well, and had solidified into something grander than he could ever imagine.

Still, to play things safe, he brought Beth along with him so that he could prove to his husband that he had broken no vow…just in case that sort of assurance was necessary.

Kurt hated to admit to jealousy, but if the roles were reversed, such assurance would have been necessary for him.

“So, we will go to the bakery first,” Kurt said, walking down the steps with Beth skipping along behind him, “and then work our way from there.”

“Okay,” she sang, occupying herself with staring up at the clouds as she walked while Kurt kept a tight hold on her hand to keep her safe.

It was only a bit after nine o’clock, but the square bustled with life. Kurt tried to see above the heads of the crowd and noticed several jugglers entertaining passersby. Along with them was a man in a suit walking a bear cub on the end of a chain. The animal stood on two legs like a human and wore a bright pink tutu around its middle. The sound of the animal huffing caught Beth’s attention, and she hopped up and down on the balls of her feet to get a better look.

“What is it, milord? What is it?” she squealed when she caught a glimpse of the bear’s black fur in the spaces between oglers.

“I don’t know, my love,” Kurt answered. “But it might be that the circus has come to town.”

“The circus!” she cheered. “Oh, I do love a circus!”

“Do you now?” Kurt asked, smiling at the fidgety little girl walking obediently beside him while still trying to watch the jugglers throw their pins in the air.

“Oh, yes,” she said, then she frowned slightly. “Well, I’ve never actually been to a circus, but I’ve seen posters, and I saw an acrobat once.”

“Well, maybe we can get his lordship to take us while the circus is in town. Would you enjoy that?”

“Would I?” Beth’s eyes lit up and she smiled so brightly that Kurt thought her face might crack straight down the middle just so she would have room to smile some more.

 “I’ll take that to mean yes,” Kurt laughed.

He found the store front he was searching for, and while Beth stood and watched the jugglers from afar, Kurt took a moment to watch the familiar man with the blond hair set cakes up on pedestals in the quaint shop. Kurt smiled as he watched the expression of intense concentration cross his face that Kurt always took for genius in the making. He still did, but it affects him in a much different way now.

“Come along, my little love,” Kurt said, opening the door and walking Beth inside the shop.

Adam looked up from his cake to greet his customers as Kurt took off his hat. Adam smiled, then furrowed his brow, then smiled even wider when he realized who was standing before him.

“Kurt!” he said hastily, and then he blushed. “I mean, Lord Kurt…or Lord Hummel…or…Count…Hummel?”

Kurt chuckled lightly at Adam’s adorable look of confusion.

“It’s Lord Anderson, actually,” Kurt corrected him, “unless my husband is near, then people refer to me as Count Anderson. Otherwise it gets confusing.”

“Yes, I see how that would be confusing…uh, milord,” Adam said, nodding, staring at Kurt with conflicted blue eyes.

It used to be that stare would make Kurt blush all over his body, but that feeling was gone, along with the racing heartbeat in his chest and fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

“This is my daughter, Beth,” Kurt said, turning the girl whose green eyes were gawking at a basket full to the brim with cookies.

“I know,” Adam said brightly, addressing Beth. “How do you do, Miss Beth?”

“I am well, thank you,” she said with a curtsy.

Kurt furrowed his brow.

“I saw the article in the paper,” Adam explained, inferring the question in Kurt’s expression. “I was going to come by and call, but…”

“But?” Kurt asked.

Adam bit his lip, staring down at his flour-dusty shoes, scuffing the toe of one on the floor as was his habit.

“Honestly, I didn’t know what to say, milord.”

Kurt nodded. He understood. Had he taken three more weeks and planned it to the letter, Kurt would be no more prepared for this meeting than he was at the moment.

“My sister told me of your engagement,” Kurt continued, veering the conversation to easier topics. “Are you excited?”

“Ever so, milord,” Adam exhaled, a dreamy look entering his eyes for a flash as thoughts of his fiance crossed his mind. It warmed Kurt to see Adam so happy. He deserved it.

“Well, I wish you much joy,” Kurt said, reaching out to shake Adam’s hand.

Adam looked at Kurt’s gloved hand a moment.

“Is that allowed, milord?” Adam asked.

“I think this time I can make an exception,” Kurt said with a wink.

Adam took the offered hand and shook it.

“Thank you, milord,” he said. “I’ll be sure to send you a piece of the cake.”

“Please do,” Kurt said.

Adam let go of Kurt’s hand, and Kurt rested it on Beth’s bony shoulder.

“And…you, milord?” Adam asked. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Kurt said without needing to think over the question first. “Very happy. I promise.”

“Splendid,” Adam said, clapping his hands in front of him. “So, was there anything that you and the young miss will be needing this morning, milord?”

“Yes, actually,” Kurt said, a weight off his heart lifting at the thought that he and Adam had parted as friends, “we were hoping to get a couple of pasties, if you have any made.”

“I do indeed, milord,” Adam said, directing Kurt and Beth to the opposite end of the shop where a collection of baked pastries sat underneath a glass dome.

“Wonderful,” Kurt said. “We’ll have two of those to go. We’re enjoying a walking breakfast this morning.”

“I see,” Adam said. “Well, today is a good day for it, milord. It’s a might chilly, but it is quite fine out.”

“The bread?” Beth whispered, pulling on the tail of Kurt’s coat.

“Yes, yes, I was just getting to that, my love,” Kurt said to the distracted little girl, whose eyes danced between the basket of cookies and the jugglers outside. “We’ll also need a loaf of salt rising bread.”

“Or course, milord.”

“The cookies,” Beth hissed in an attempt at being covert.

Kurt rolled his eyes fondly and Adam laughed.

“Let me guess, milord,” he said, “will you be wanting any cookies today?”

“A dozen, yes,” Kurt said.”

“Any kind in particular?”

Kurt waited to see if Beth had anything to say on the matter, but confident that the ordering had been properly done, she continued to watch the activity outside and ignore the two adults beside her.

“I guess not,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “Just pick twelve of your favorites for me, please.”

“Yes, milord.”

“Oh, do you have a boy who can deliver it?” Kurt asked. “We are not going straight back to the manor, I’m afraid, and I don’t want it to get cold.”

“I’ll have that done for you straight away, milord,” Adam said, offering Kurt a bow.

“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Crawford,” Kurt said, taking the bill from Adam and signing his name at the bottom. Kurt turned it back over, watching Adam set the order aside.

“It has been lovely seeing you again,” Kurt said. “Truly. I wish you so much joy.”

Adam’s smile was small and wistful, but Kurt could see that Adam harbored no regrets, and it made Kurt’s soul glad.

“And to you too, milord.”

Adam offered Kurt a bow, and Kurt bowed back.

“Say thank you to Mr. Crawford, Beth,” Kurt said, tapping Beth lightly on the shoulder. She turned her beaming smile on the baker.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a curtsy.

Adam bowed low to the smiling girl, and she giggled, ducking her head and hiding her laugh behind her hands.

Kurt took his daughter’s hand and, with a wave, led her from the shop. He opened the door to usher her out, put on his hat, stepped onto the avenue, and didn’t look back.

“Milord,” Beth said when they started to walk away, “may I ask you a question?”

“You may,” Kurt said, holding his head high and keeping her hand tight in his. There was now a great crowd gathering as more performers arrived, and Kurt was not too fond of public crowds like this.

“Do you think…” she started, staring down at her shoes as she spoke, “that maybe you could help me get Lord Anderson a gift? To thank him for all the kindness he’s shown to me?”

Kurt looked down as Beth looked up.

“I could work to pay you back somehow, milord,” she said, hoping that her question didn’t sound demanding or impertinent. But Kurt smiled at Beth, and Kurt’s smiles always spoke volumes where Beth was involved.

“I think that would be lovely,” Kurt said. “Did you have anything special in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe a new cane,” Beth said. “The one he has now is ever so old and worn.”

Kurt chuckled. He hadn’t thought about it that way. Except at bedtime, Kurt had not seen Blaine without his cane. It was such a fixture, an extension of him. It represented him, and to think of him as old and worn was an impossibility for Kurt. Blaine would forever be, in Kurt’s eyes, young and beautiful and new.

“It _is_ positively ancient,” Kurt said with a shake of his head.

Kurt heard a cry amongst the crowd as the bear on the chain, as annoyed with the crowd as Kurt had become, ran out amid the audience. The crowd pushed back in Kurt’s direction, and he felt the crushing weight of several people stumbling toward him.

“Beth!” he cried out; though he could not see the girl, he felt her hand in his.

Hands pushed them back toward the store front, but suddenly he was being pushed farther – strong hands on his shoulders shoving him down an alley between two buildings, full of grey shadows even at this early sunlit hour of the day. Kurt kept Beth close to him, but he had no view of his attacker. In the struggle, his hat had been pushed down over his eyes, and he had not the hands to push it up out of his face.

It seemed whoever had them was taking them to the farthest end of the alley, but soon they stopped when the hands dropped from his shoulders. Kurt pushed the hat up out of his eyes and off his head, sending it falling to the floor. He grabbed Beth by the shoulders and pushed her behind his body, shielding her from whoever stood in front of them.

It was a man – disheveled, unkempt, in a wrinkled suit, a ruined top hat, and a tattered pair of leather shoes. Kurt thought him to be a common drunkard, but he could smell little drink on him. The man stared at them, eyes bouncing between them – hazel eyes, not the same alluring honey-gold of Blaine’s hazel eyes, but thin, a veil tinted a similar bourbon color.

“Who are you?” Kurt demanded. “What do you think you are doing, grabbing us off the street like that?”

The man just stood and stared, though his eyes rested on Beth, hiding between Kurt’s legs, more than Kurt liked. Kurt had a thought of grabbing Beth and running, but the man in front of them was built like a wall. He had broad shoulders, muscular – Kurt could tell even through the loose fit of his coat - probably from hard labor.

Kurt maneuvered Beth behind him until she was nearly invisible behind his coat, and the man snapped up straight, his eyes boring into Kurt’s face. His lips split into a gruesome grin – all cracked, bleeding lips, and yellowing teeth.

“Who…who are you?” Kurt repeated, swallowing hard to maintain his perceived authority. He was a Count, after all. That should mean something. “I demand that you tell me your name at once.”

The command in Kurt’s voice seemed to spur the man from his torpor.

“Oh, wher’ are my man’ers,” the man said, removing his shoddy top hat from his head and exposing a head of scraggily, oily brown hair, cut on the sides to leave a path down the middle. “My name be Noah Puckerman,” he said, making a low, courtly bow to the gentleman in front of him. “Puck to my friends.”

Kurt swallowed hard.

“What do you want with us?” Kurt asked, trying not to reveal in his facial expression or his manner of speaking that he recognized the name. Puck prowled left and right, like a panther toying with its prey, eying the little girl hiding behind Kurt’s legs with particular interest.

“I want wha’ any man wants, m’lord,” Puck said. “A home, a _family_ …” His eyes locked on Beth as he emphasized that point, and it made Kurt’s heart stutter sickly. He shook his head, reaching behind him to grab Beth and hold her close.

“Wha---what does that have to do with us?” Kurt asked, cursing himself when his voice began to falter.

The man pointed down at the little girl, who whimpered and hid her face beneath Kurt’s jacket.

“You ‘ave my little one, m’lord,” the man claimed, crouching down low to try and catch her eyes.

“I certainly do not,” Kurt barked, taking a step back with Beth stumbling behind him.

“Oh, but you do,” Puck said, straightening to look Kurt in the eyes. “That tiny poppet ‘iding behind you like a rabbit in tha brush. She be mine. ‘er mother bore her, and then stole ‘er away from me. Now I would like ‘er back, please.”

Beth squeaked like a mouse caught by her tail in a trap.

Puck smiled the grin of a bloodthirsty predator, and Kurt felt his stomach coil into a hard knot.

But not from fear.

Well, not _entirely_ from fear.

He felt himself become infuriated with the man standing before him. How dare this charlatan try to steal Kurt’s daughter away from him?

Kurt didn’t care what it took. Puck wouldn’t get hold of a single hair on Beth’s head.

“What would you do with a young girl?” Kurt asked, stalling as he tried to devise a plan to get them away from this man and back to the manor house as quickly as possible. He had to alert Blaine to Puck’s presence. He had to get his little girl to safety at all costs.

“I would love ‘er, m’lord,” Puck said. “I _do_ love ‘er.”

“Is this what you consider love?” Kurt balked. “Is it love to scare her like this? Is it love to take her away from everything and everyone she loves?” Kurt took one more step back, stealing a glance behind him to see how close to the wall he and Beth were coming.

“Oh, I ‘ave no intention of taking ‘er away from everyone she loves,” Puck said.

Kurt’s brow furrowed with confusion.

“What…”

“I seen you two together. I saw yer picture in tha papers. I see ‘ow close tha two of you are,” Puck said, lowering his voice. His eyes – hooded and dark - switched from Kurt’s eyes to his mouth. “I see ‘ow…desir’ble you are.” Puck reached out a hand and touched a single fingertip to Kurt’s bottom lip. “So why shouldn’t my daughter _and_ I ‘ave sumthin that we both want?”

Kurt jerked back from Puck’s touch, spitting on the ground at Puck’s feet.

“Never!” Kurt growled. “You will never have Beth…or me!”

Puck grabbed Kurt’s bottom jaw in his hand, holding his face still and squeezing hard. Kurt gritted his teeth and groaned at the pain of dull nails biting into his flesh. Beth, peering out from behind Kurt’s body for the moment, gasped, and then hid again, beginning to sob.

“Yer gonna be sor’ry for that,” Puck spat back in Kurt’s face, raising his other fist behind him.

“Hey!” a voice rang out from the mouth of the alley.

Puck’s head turned at the sound of Adam’s voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw the fair haired man rush into the alley. Kurt gathered his courage and his strength and shoved Puck hard with both hands. Puck flew backward into the brick on the opposite side, his head knocking against the wall hard, leaving a smear of blood where he scraped down the wall.

Puck put a hand to the back of his head, pulling it in front of his face, his fingertips coated with blood.

“Fuck!” he cursed, scrambling to get to his feet. He looked at Kurt, eyes burning, hands out in front of him, about to throttle him, but he saw the threat of the other man coming at him, uninjured and already prepared for a fight.

“I’ll be seein’ you again, luvs,” he said, throwing Kurt and Beth a wink. He sped off down the alley, barreling into the baker. Before Adam could dodge, Puck tackled him, knocking him to the ground, and kept running out into the square. Adam leapt to his feet and gave chase while Kurt pulled Beth up into his arms. There they stood, waiting for any word that Adam was okay or that the blaggard had been caught. They heard screaming in the square, people yelling, “Look out!” and another voice that sounded like Adam’s yelling, “Grab hold of that man!” Seconds later, the square went back to its normal hum of activity, and Kurt heard nothing more of the chase taking place. He started to make his way down the alley towards the entrance when the sound of heavy footsteps stopped him.

“Milord?” Beth whimpered.

“It’s okay, Beth,” Kurt reassured her, putting a hand to her head to shield her eyes from view of whatever might be headed for them. “Everything is going to be fine. I promise you.”

The footsteps got closer and Kurt readied himself to run, but Adam came into view, jogging back down the alley toward them.

“Adam,” Kurt said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness it’s only you.”

“I lost him, milord,” Adam said, approaching slowly when he saw Beth cling to Kurt harder, her fingers digging into the sleeves of his coat. “I am sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Kurt said. “You tried, and I appreciate it. Thank goodness you showed up when you did.” Kurt smiled for looks, but he felt his heart shudder knowing that Puck was still out there. “Why did you come looking for us?” Kurt asked, curious now that the threat to their lives had been evaded.

Adam reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a brown bag of flattened pasties.

“You forgot these when you left, milord,” Adam said, handing them over. “I’m afraid they may have gotten a little squished.”

Kurt reached out a hand for them, chuckling at the destroyed pasties, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

It was funny…but it wasn’t funny.

“Are you alright, milord?” Adam asked softly, noticing Kurt’s shaking hand holding on to the bag like his life depended on it.

“Yes, I think I’m fine,” Kurt lied for the sake of the girl cradled in his arms.

“Your face,” Adam gasped. There was nowhere for Kurt to check the injury to his jaw, but his skin felt hot and it stung.

“It is but a scratch,” Kurt said, waving him off.

“And what of Miss Beth?”

“Beth?” Kurt asked, looking down at the little girl clinging to his shoulders. “Beth, honey, are you okay?”

“I think so, milord,” she said, shivering.

“We should get out of this alley. Let me get you two home, milord,” Adam offered. Kurt nodded, taking a step on legs that hadn’t remembered how to move yet. “Do you need me to take the girl, milord?” Adam asked as he led Kurt and Beth out of the alley.

“No,” Kurt said, holding Beth tighter. “Thank you, but I’m alright to carry her.”

Nobody was going to take his daughter from him. Nobody.

* * *

 

Blaine awoke from an incredible dream in a miserable way. He turned over in his cocoon of warm blankets and pillows after fantasizing about the night before – how receptive Kurt was to his touches, how reckless he was with his moans, how abandoned as he moved like a cat, arching his back, riding Blaine’s cock, begging and pleading – to find his husband already out of bed, and he suspected, out of the house.

In a past life, this would have been a blessing – a morning to himself to drink his coffee in peace, read the paper at his leisure, to work in his office completely undisturbed.

But that wasn’t his life now. He didn’t wish for that. The house would be too quiet with Kurt and Beth gone, and he didn’t like that. He wanted them back. He wanted Beth in his lap when he read the paper. He wanted Kurt sitting beside him as he drank his coffee, humming and sewing, or going over French verbs with Beth. Blaine didn’t realize how unnecessarily depressing and glum the life of a bachelor was until he wasn’t one any longer.

He dressed slowly, hoping that if he stalled long enough, his husband and daughter would be back before he went down to breakfast, but no such luck. So he dined alone, and even though his cook made all of his favorites, everything that touched his tongue was tasteless without his husband and daughter there.

So, this is what it meant to be in love?

How could it be a good thing if it made caviar taste like horse droppings?

Maybe, Blaine thought, that would only last as long as he didn’t tell Kurt the extent of his affections.

Blaine needed to tell him.

Kurt deserved to be married to a man who could tell him he loved him. He deserved to know. He deserved hearing those words ring in his ears morning, noon, and night.

He deserved to have it whispered against his skin while they made love.

Though Blaine wasn’t sure how Kurt could not know by this point.

Maybe he had slipped and said it to Kurt? Perhaps just once?

Blaine racked his brain, thinking for a time, but he couldn’t come up with one, and he knew why.

Because he hadn’t said it…and he was a coward.

Kurt didn’t deserve a coward.

Blaine wanted to devise the perfect way to tell Kurt, the perfect moment.

The sound of the knocker pounding against the door barely caught Blaine’s attention. There was an order of beef and sugar due, and tending to it was none of his affair. It wasn’t until he heard Marley cry, “Oh, milord! Lord Anderson, come quickly!” that he paid any attention.

Blaine got to his feet and followed the voice to the entry, not ever thinking in a century that he would see Kurt – _his_ Kurt – being led about by that baker Adam. He even had the audacity to touch his husband’s arm.

“What happened?” Blaine’s eyes locked on Adam’s face and scowled. “What are you…”

“He saved us, milord,” Beth’s voice piped up. Blaine looked at her startled, seeming to notice her for the first time. She was curled in a ball in Kurt’s arms. Kurt set her down and she turned to Blaine, throwing her thin arms around him and attaching herself to his good leg.

“Wha---“ Blaine looked to Kurt for an explanation, but instead he saw a set of scratches on his pale face accompanied by black-and-blue marks that looked suspiciously like fingers. “Somebody, please, tell me what happened! Kurt…” Blaine reached out a hand to touch the bruises.

“It was…it was Puck, my lord,” Kurt said. “He found us.”

“Wait…what do you mean?” Blaine asked, looking from his husband, to his daughter, to the baker lingering nearby. “What do you mean he found you?”

“He’s been searching for Beth, my lord,” Kurt said, biting his lip as he fought back tears, “all this long time. He thinks…he thinks Beth is his daughter, and he wants her. He tried to take us.”

“Both of you?” Blaine asked befuddled. “Why…”

“He didn’t want to take me away from Beth, my lord,” Kurt said, explaining in vague truths so as not to put too many worries into Blaine’s head. “He saw how close we had become.”

Blaine’s legs wanted to give out. He wanted to fall to the floor. He wanted to go back in time, go back to bed and unknow all of this – maybe he could convince Kurt to stay with him, and then none of this would happen.

“But…how did he find you?” Blaine asked.

“The article, my lord,” Kurt replied, starting to shiver, giving in to fear and panic now that he was safe in the presence of his husband. “He saw the article about Beth and me in the society pages. That’s how he knew.”

Blaine glared in the direction of the front door, as if Puck was going to storm through at any second and demand he turn over Beth immediately.

Well, Puck couldn’t have her. Blaine wouldn’t allow it.

Beth or Kurt.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, “he knows where we are. He’ll find out where we live. He’ll come looking for us.”

Kurt’s voice drew Blaine’s attention back to the present. He looked at the faces around him where they stood in the sitting room, waiting to hear what Blaine intended to do.

There was only one thing he could do.

He had to keep him family safe.

“We need to leave here,” Blaine said, bending at the waist to hold Beth close, “now.”


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for a chase scene, anxiety, and death of an animal.

“I want it done soon,” the dark figure spoke to his pair of burly companions. The loud mingling of the patrons around them - filling their tankards, reciting stories in raised, drunken voices, sampling the wares that the ale wenches offered - made a perfect cover as the shrouded stranger spoke his business.

“I don’ know if it can be done so quick like, sir,” the larger of the two sour faced mercenaries said, stroking his thick beard with his thumb and index finger. The giant towered above the dark stranger by at least a foot, yet the greasy-skinned scoundrel dared not provoke the quiet man.

“Yeah,” the second chimed in with a sly smile, “a thing’s like yur askin’ takes planning...”

The stranger pulled a handful of gold coins from his purse. Laying them on the table, he peered into the larger man’s dirt brown eyes. With a smirk, he said, “Will _this_ help to speed along your planning?”

The man scooped the generous stack of coins with one hand and weighed them in his palm, thoughtfully running his fingers over their smooth surface. The polished gold caught the glow of the surrounding candlelight and winked alluringly back at him.

“Right so,” the man nodded, stuffing the coins into a pouch on his belt. The smaller man scowled and reached a greedy hand for the giant’s stash in protest, only to receive a swipe from the giant’s eating knife. The sliver of a cut swelled with blood. Grabbing at his wounded hand, the man withdrew with a muttering of curses.

“Wha’ you have to go and do that for, Brutus?” the smaller man whined.

“Shut it, Arl,” the giant snarled as he turned his attention toward their mysterious benefactor.

“So, what’s this ’ere job, and why’s it so urgent?” Brutus asked with an incline of his head.

“There’s a carriage.” The man spoke slowly and plainly, not willing to offer a great deal of explanation. “It belongs to an earl. He’s staying in the city. Watch it. As soon as it leaves, dispose of it, and anyone inside. Make it look like a robbery. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“Who’s the carriage a-carryin’?” the man called Arl inquired.

“A family,” the stranger responded in a smooth, cold voice. “Two men, and a small girl.”

“Sounds like a walk in the park,” Brutus said with a satisfied grin.

Arl turned to both men, looking visibly shaken.

“Now, wait a minute,” Arl said in a nervous whisper. “I don’t thinks I like the sounds of that.”

“Sound of what?” the shrouded man asked, his ire stoked.

“Killin’ a family?” Arl asked. “I mean, a child an’ all? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, well,” the dark man said looking at Brutus. “It seems your sniveling friend here has a conscience.” 

Arl rubbed the back of his neck anxiously under the scrutiny of both men, especially under the suddenly amused gaze of his monstrous cohort.

“Yeah?” Brutus growled. “Don’ ya be worryin’ none, sir. He’ll do his job...” Brutus challenged Arl with a knifepoint to his chin. “Or I’ll be throwin’ his sorry arse in for free.” Arl leapt back out of the knife’s reach. Brutus flashed him a broad, crooked grin. “Won’ cha, Arl?” 

The amused tone of Brutus’s voice masked an underlying threat. Arl turned his head to look at his hands, troubling his leather vest with his fidgeting fingers, responding to the giant‘s threats only with silence.       

“Wonderful,” the man said, rising to leave. He pulled out another gold coin and tossed it to Arl, who caught it with one shaking hand.

“That’s for your conscience,” the man scoffed. “Now, go, do your job, and do not fail me.”

The dark man turned to leave, smiling beneath his hood.

‘He will pay,’ the man thought, sealing the family’s fate. He took one final look at his hired thugs, thoroughly satisfied with himself. ‘He will pay for the way he treated me...for the way he banished me.’

With a flourish of his heavy cape, the man strode quietly out of the inn.

***

The noon sun had just begun its slow decent into the horizon when Blaine helped his husband and daughter into their carriage.

“I wish we could stay longer,” Kurt said with a sigh. “There were so many things I had still hoped to do.”

“As did I,” Blaine smiled at his young husband. “But I need to keep you and Beth safe. Besides, what better place is there to hide than Paris?”

“I guess you are right, my lord,” Kurt said. “I’ve not yet been to Paris.”

“You’re going to love it,” Blaine promised, kissing Kurt on the cheek.

Beth peeked her angelic face out of the window and pulled a face at Blaine. Blaine laughed at her, tousling her hair.

“I’m going to get you!” Blaine teased the giggling girl, who settled in the farthest corner of the carriage with her doll clutched in her arms. 

“Are you sure it is safe to travel the road at this hour, husband?” Kurt asked. He swallowed a lump lodged in his throat. All morning since the encounter with Puck, Kurt found himself plagued with an uneasiness he could not find words to explain. Blaine had been determined that they away as soon as they could get the carriages ready. Kurt was relieved at first, but now, as they readied to depart, Kurt found the uneasiness growing stronger.

Truth be told, he would have felt safer if Blaine had decided to return to the country, to their beautiful manor. 

Blaine sensed his husband’s apprehension. He took Kurt’s hand in his and held it gently.

“I promise to keep you safe, my love,” Blaine said. “Whatever it takes. Besides, I have traveled this road at all times of day, in all kinds of weather. The horses are strong, the carriage secure, and our driver...” Blaine paused a moment to point to a stout man in a tricorn hat checking the fasteners of the horses’ bridles, “is prepared for any danger.”

Kurt smiled and sat beside Beth, who was making her doll wave to the servants outside the window. Blaine climbed into the carriage, closing the door behind him. He sat on the bench across from his husband and daughter and smiled at the pair. 

Blaine turned his head when he heard a knock at the carriage door.

“Once we get the second carriage hitched up, we’ll follow right behind, my lord,” Geoff, his butler, said.

“Very well,” Blaine said. He knocked on the carriage roof with the knuckles of his balled fist, signaling to the driver they were ready to depart. The driver called to the team, cracking his whip above their heads, and the horses started at a trot, ambling down the stony path. 

Marley stood out from the other servants and waved, watching the carriage round the bend with her master and his family inside.

“God keep them,” she whispered, crossing herself. “Please, keep them safe.” 

* * *

 

The large black carriage wobbled evenly from side to side as the horses trudged along at an easy gait down the narrow dirt road. Blaine peered cautiously out the carriage window. With the shade pulled down to block out the cold, he could only see a sliver of the night sky as the thick material swayed with the constant movement of the coach. The moon rose full and luminous in the cloudless evening sky. A dozen times he had made this same journey at night without any incident. Rarely did robbers even roam this road as it was fairly well trafficked at nearly all hours. Still, something about the ominous moon standing alone in the starless sky cast a troubling shadow upon him.

He didn’t like Puck finding Beth, or that Puck attempted to take his family away from him. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of being in debt to Adam Crawford, of all people, but thank God he had been there. Blaine didn’t want to think about the outcome of their altercation had the young baker not happened along.

Blaine looked across the carriage at Beth, curled up against Kurt’s traveling coat and sleeping peacefully. Her round pink face and naturally red lips made her the picture of a tiny cherub. She had such brilliance, such promise. His eyes moved to look at his handsome young husband, sitting by Beth’s side, a protective arm wrapped around her shoulders in sleep. Blaine smiled. Never in his life had Blaine felt so proud of anything. Surely someone was looking down on him.

The lure of sleep tugging at Blaine’s eyelids, he readjusted his position on the carriage bench. He leaned his head against the wall of the coach and shut his eyes. 

 _‘Just a quick nap,’_ he decided. Just a moment to rest his eyes before he continued his vigil of looking out the window. Besides, if something were to become amiss, the horses would warn them. Before Blaine even realized that he had closed his eyes, he fell sound asleep.

A troubled whinny from the team jarred Blaine from his slumber. Amazed that he had actually allowed himself to drift to sleep, Blaine spun around on his seat in the carriage to see where the trouble was. Kurt heard his husband shift and sat up as well, his eyes fluttering to blink away the sleep that filled his head.

“What is it, Blaine?” he asked as he reached out to touch his husband’s arm. “What is all the alarm?”

“I do not know, my love,” Blaine responded in a tense whisper. “Do not speak for now.” 

Blaine moved forward and slowly pushed open the shade to peer into the night. He could see nothing from the window, only the passing of tree branches strangely close to the side of the carriage.

‘Surely he could not have taken us _into_ the forest?’ Blaine wondered as he tried to secure a view of the road. The carriage rolled to a stop, the horses’ steps coming to a halt with no instruction from the driver. 

Blaine knocked on the roof of the carriage with his cane to get the driver’s attention.

“Driver? Why have we stopped?”

Now completely awake, Kurt sat quietly, fearful as he stared deeply into his husband’s befuddled face. Even the air seemed to still around them as the oppressive night pervaded the carriage.

_Bang! Bang!_

They heard shots fire. Suddenly, Blaine heard shouting from above them.

_“Do you see them?”_

_“I don’t. Did you get them?”_

_“I don’t know. I think I hit one.”_

Blaine deduced that his footman or driver must have shot at the robbers, or whoever may have spooked the horses, and hit their mark. With a gut-wrenching lurch those thoughts were dashed as the carriage shot forward, the horses nearly screaming as they bolted into the night.

They heard more shots fire and a dull thud as something heavy landed atop the carriage, then rolled off the roof into the bushes. Blaine heard hoof beats quickly approaching the carriage, bearing down on them until they seemed directly outside the carriage door. Blaine could hear a scratching on the door, as though someone were trying to force their way in. Clawing his hands at the walls, attempting to keep his balance as he stood awkwardly in the cabin, Blaine tried to cross to the opposite side of the coach and lift the shade to peek out.  Before he could reach it, the covering burst into flame. 

A wild fiery creature of some sort flew through the window and landed on the floor. Blaine looked down in horror to see a burning torch lying at his feet. The velvet interior of the coach lit immediately. Kurt screamed, struggling and stomping at the blaze. From across the licking of the growing fire, Blaine spied Beth creeping backward on her bench, trying to escape. Blaine managed to grab off his traveling coat and tried to snuff out the fire consuming the floor of the carriage. 

The carriage meandered wildly, and Blaine knew with a sickening stab of reality that his driver and footmen were dead, the horses careening madly out of control into the wood. Singed by the flame and trying to escape, Blaine kicked at the carriage door with his good leg to bust it open, but it would not budge. Something had been lodged in the door handle outside to block the door from opening. Blaine continued to kick at the door, praying with every breath of smoke he inhaled for some means of escape.  Beth, her face blackened with soot, stood on the bench, her face twisted into choking sobs. Blaine tried to reach across the flames to touch his daughter, touch her hair, her clothes, anything that would connect him to the crying girl, but the heat of the fire repelled him. 

Kurt noticed the burning shade coming loose from the carriage. He grabbed Blaine’s cane and batted at it until it broke free and flew off into the night. A surge of cold air fanned the dying flames, and blew the ashes around, but it quelled them long enough for Kurt to make it across to Beth.

“Follow us!” Kurt screamed, grabbing Beth in his arms and leaping through the window of the carriage into the dark.

Blaine’s eyes went wide, but he followed behind, sitting on the ledge and dropping out backward, landing hard on his tailbone in the hard-packed dirt of the road.

“Blaine!” Kurt screamed. Blaine could hear his husband’s footsteps, labored by the weight of Beth in his arms. Blaine tried to stand, but his prosthetic leg had dislodged and he couldn’t get his footing.

“I’m here!” Blaine called into the dark, wincing at the idea that the bandits who attacked their carriage might be hiding in the trees, waiting to ambush them.

Blaine saw the carriage topple side-ways. The coach railed and turned completely over. The horses continued to drag the fated coach through the labyrinth of trees before the conflagration lit the hitch. The horses stampeded in an anxious attempt to escape being burned alive only to trip and slide full long off the side of a rocky cliff into the jagged rocks below.

“What…what do we do now?” Kurt asked, shielding Beth against the sound of the horses screaming in pain.

“We wait for the servants to come with the other carriage,” Blaine said, wrapping his arms around his husband and daughter. “They weren’t too far behind. Then we go back to the manor.”

“In London?” Kurt asked in fearful surprise.

“No,” Blaine said, “in the country. It’s remote and I know it well. The city is too crowded. It would be too easy for us to be attacked there.” Blaine smiled, gaze fixed on Kurt’s eyes shining at him in the dark. “I am sorry, my love. Paris will have to wait.”

Kurt kissed Beth and kissed Blaine, holding them both, thankful to have them still.

“It can wait,” Kurt said. “Let’s go home.”

 

 


	21. Chapter 20

Not long after, the second carriage came barreling down the dirt road. Kurt could tell by the hurricane lamps secured beside the driver’s bench that this was definitely their carriage and not another. Beth had cried herself to sleep with her doll hugged tight against her chest, her small body cradled in Blaine’s arms as he reclined on the roadside, hidden in the tree line. Kurt rushed the team of horses, waving his arms and calling out to the driver. Dressed in his black traveling suit and with no torch to signal them, he prayed they didn’t miss him or run him over – or worse, take him for a robber and shoot him on sight. But Marley, with her head stuck out the window to breathe the evening air, recognized her master’s voice right away.

“It’s them!” she called, knocking on the roof of the carriage with all the might in her thin arm. “His lordship and my master! Stranded on the road! Stop the damned carriage, for pity’s sake!”

The carriage came to a halt a distance away from the trio, and Marley hopped out before it came to a full stop to find out what happened.

“We were set upon by bandits,” Kurt explained, racing forward to summon the footman and a manservant to help his husband. “I do not rightly know. We never saw them. They killed our footman and our driver, set the carriage ablaze…” Kurt shuddered as he recounted the tale. “The horses plummeted off the cliff. They burn…they burned alive.”

“Oh, milord,” Marley sobbed, and he let the girl throw her arms around him. “I am sorry.”

“All will be well when we get off of this accursed road,” Kurt said with a sniffle. “Come, help me.”

The servants and Marley rushed after Kurt, who led them to where Blaine and Beth lay. Marley took sleeping Beth in her arms and carried her to the carriage while the servants tried to aid Blaine, but Blaine would not have it. If he needed to be carried, he wanted Kurt to his left so that his husband could help him negotiate his humiliating dislodged leg.

Kurt helped the footman get Blaine to his feet and then helped carry him to the coach, with the other servant taking the lead, carrying a lantern aloft to guide their way.

Kurt attempted to shift everyone around so that they all could fit in the carriage, factoring in an extra stop so the team could rest, but the servants had ideas of their own, readying themselves to travel the dark road back into town without command in order to give their lords and Beth room to travel comfortably in the carriage – all except for Marley, whose master would not see her go. Blaine tried to object, but the servants insisted. He drew them up two quick letters - one for the authorities in town, detailing the specifics of the attack upon their carriage, and one with instructions that would procure the servants a second carriage to take them home. He wished them well, shaking each one of their hands in turn, and promised to compensate them generously when they returned to the manor house again.

The journey to the country was a silent one, with not an hour of rest enjoyed between Kurt and Blaine. They sat on the bench, side by side, with a sleeping Beth nestled between them. The two lords stayed awake, nerves on edge, eyes glued to the road and the trees, keeping watch for any signs of another attack.

They stopped the journey half way to give the horses an opportunity to rest. Instead of spending the night at The Rose and Crown, as was their usual custom, Blaine took advantage of a long extended invitation by a nearby lord, who gratefully offered Lord Anderson and his family accommodation for the evening in exchange for the pleasure of their company. The Andersons dined with their host, putting on the appearance of normalcy so as not to sully the evening. They were offered three rooms for their use, and a governess at their disposal, but when bedtime finally came in the wee morning hours, Kurt and Blaine slept with Beth between them, and Marley on a settee in the same room, off to one corner.

They left their host’s home earlier than the lord would have liked, but Blaine made sure to leave the kind gentleman with an open invitation to visit Anderson Manor for fishing in his lake as soon as his schedule allowed.

The final leg of their journey was tense, though less so as the surrounding countryside became more familiar. The rolling green hills and tight clusters of trees were a comforting sign that they were back where they belonged. When the manor house came into full view both men felt relieved, and Kurt finally felt at home.

Kurt roused a sleeping Beth so that the girl could get her first view of her new permanent home.

“Okay, Beth, my darling,” Kurt said, urging her toward the coach window when the carriage stopped, “this is your home now.”

Beth blinked sleepy eyes, then, taking in the enormous house standing before her, stared with her jaw dropped to her chest. Kurt snickered.

“This, milord?” she asked. “But this…this can’t be a house! It looks like the Colosseum!”

“You should see it on the inside,” Kurt teased, kissing the top of Beth’s head. “Would you like to see inside?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she said, stepping down from the carriage, taking the butler’s offered hand and hopping down the last step.

“Marley?” Kurt summoned his maid from the carriage. “Please take Miss Beth on a tour of the house.”

“Yes, milord,” Marley said with a smile at the little girl who looked back up at Kurt with saddened eyes.

“But, I want _you_ to take me, milord,” she pouted.

“I will be with you in a moment,” Kurt said, following Marley out of the carriage. “I promise. Now run along.”

Marley took Beth’s hand, flashed one of her infectious grins, and the two girls shot off into the house, all sense of propriety lost. Kurt laughed as he watched them, Beth especially, so changed from that first little girl who wouldn’t let Marley near her.

Now they were thick as thieves and destined to be lifelong friends, Kurt just knew it.

Kurt turned to the butler who stood by the carriage steps waiting for his lord and master, but Kurt addressed him first.

“Please set the young girl up in the room adjoining mine,” he commanded.

“Or…” Blaine interrupted, slowly stepping from the carriage, his hand gripping his cane tightly. Kurt immediately offered his husband an arm down from the carriage, which Blaine happily accepted, “we can set Beth up in your room, my love, and you can move into my room…with me?”

Kurt gasped at the offer, overwhelmed that this custom they had developed in the city of bedding down together would continue here in the country.

“I would love that, my lord,” Kurt said, his lips parting into a slow smile. He raised his husband’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Blaine matched Kurt’s smile at the sweet gesture.

“If it pleases my husband,” Blaine said, letting Kurt help him down the final step, “I have a present for you.”

“A present?” Kurt asked, bubbling over with excitement. “For me?”

“Yes,” Blaine said, looking left and right around the carriage, and then smiling when he saw it approach. “I arranged for it before we left to make sure that it would ready for our return.”

Blaine took Kurt’s shoulders and turned his body around, facing him away from the house and in the direction of the meadow. Kurt saw Sebastian approach, holding the reins of a beautiful horse – a red roan gelding – with a mane of flame-colored hair framing a proud, fierce face.

“A horse, my lord?” Kurt breathed clasping his hands together beneath his chin. “You got me a horse?”

Sebastian smiled at Kurt and bowed deeper than Blaine thought necessary.

“It is nice to see you back, milord,” Sebastian said, pulling the beast closer to its new master. “And you, Lord Anderson.”

“Mr. Smythe,” Blaine returned with a still wary tone in his voice. “Thank you for bringing my husband’s gift up from the stables.”

Sebastian smiled graciously and bowed again.

Kurt stared at the gorgeous creature before him with awe, reaching a hand out, almost afraid to touch the mighty animal.

“The horse is quite tame, milord,” Sebastian assured him, running his hand down the horse’s face. Kurt put his hand to the beast’s face and it nuzzled into Kurt’s palm.

“Do you like it, my love?” Blaine whispered, still holding Kurt’s shoulders in his grasp.

“I love it, my lord!” Kurt exclaimed, turning and throwing himself into his husband’s embrace. Sebastian turned a polite eye away as Kurt held Blaine in his arms.

Blaine held him back, caring nothing if they made a scene. Anderson Manor was their home, and Sebastian, for his part, was more than their servant. He was their friend. Laws that governed behavior and propriety didn’t exist here while Kurt was trembling in Blaine’s arms from pure happiness.

“But…” Kurt muttered, releasing his grip and stepping back a bit to look into his husband’s eyes.

“But, what?” Blaine asked anxiously. “What is it? Tell me.”

Kurt bit his lip and grinned, looking up at Blaine through a fan of long lashes, his blue eyes sparkling with secret intentions.

“I have nothing to give to you, my lord,” Kurt said. “However shall I repay you?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and shook his head, laughing at Kurt’s blatant flirting.

“If it pleases you, I will return the horse to its stable, Lord Anderson, until the Count is ready for a ride,” Sebastian said, not even waiting for a dismissal before he began turning the horse away.

“Please do, Mr. Smythe,” Blaine said with his eyes locked to his husband’s darkening gaze.“My husband and I have… _business_ to attend to.”

* * *

 

“Oh…oh, my love,” Kurt moaned, arching his back, scratching at the sheets beneath him, his body shuddering at the drag of his husband’s tongue down his aching length, “I believe you are trying to kill me, my lord.”

Blaine pulled away from Kurt’s cock and smiled.

“If I am, my love, can you think of a better way to go?” He sank down over Kurt again, running his hands up the backs of Kurt’s legs to cup his buttocks.

“Yes,” Kurt moaned, “I can, my lord.”

Blaine stopped his assault and pulled off Kurt’s cock quickly, Kurt whining at the loss of heat.

“Really, husband?” he asked, crawling up Kurt’s body to tease the corners of his mouth with the same tongue that had been caressing his length. “And what way is that?”

“With you buried inside me,” Kurt said, capturing Blaine’s tongue playfully between his teeth.

“Is that what you wish, my love?” Blaine whispered when Kurt relinquished his tongue. “Do you want me inside of you?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, kissing Blaine gently. “That is my wish.”

“How shall we then?” Blaine asked. “You choose the position.”

Kurt gave it some thought, and then rolled onto one side, pulling Blaine’s arm till it wrapped around him and his husband’s body fell naturally behind his back.

“We have not done it like this before,” Blaine said, looking down at his husband with a raised eyebrow.

“I know, my lord,” Kurt said, blushing, “but I want to be closer to you, and I thought…” Kurt’s daring fell away a bit, but Blaine kissed him soundly to bring it back.

“I think that sounds wonderful, actually,” Blaine said, climbing behind his husband. Blaine’s hands massaged up and down the strong planes of Kurt’s back, along the line of his spine. Kurt moaned, Blaine’s touch on his skin like a salve that melted all of Kurt’s insecurities away.

Blaine’s hands slid between Kurt’s cheeks, his thumb dipping inside Kurt’s entrance with every pass, teasing him, coaxing Kurt to open up for him, making Kurt crave him beyond a shadow of any other doubts in his mind – not that there are many. Most of his doubts had evaporated away long ago. Kurt felt the caress of Blaine’s fingers coated in oil slip inside his body and prize him open.

“Kurt,” Blaine murmured against his husband’s soft skin, “my beautiful Kurt. What did I ever do to deserve you, my love?”

Blaine slowly replaced his fingers with his cock, biting his tongue as he entered his husband, impatient but unwilling to rush this moment.

“I daresay you don’t, my lord,” Kurt panted, resting his head back on Blaine’s shoulder so Blaine could see his smile.

“One more word like that, husband,” Blaine said, pushing until he was fully settled inside his husband’s body, “and I will have to spank you.”

“Oh,” Kurt cooed, sighing at the feeling of being full, of being complete with his husband inside him, “I wish you would, my lord.”

Blaine pulled out of his husband, almost entirely out of his body, and then shoved back in quickly, bringing a hand back and smacking Kurt soundly on the ass.

“Ah!” Kurt moaned. “Lord…”

“Is that what you wanted?” Blaine asked, looking down at where his hand left a red print on Kurt’s perfect alabaster ass cheek.

“Yes, my lord,” Kurt whined, reaching back with his arms and looping them around his husband’s neck, giving Blaine unfettered access to his body, which Blaine used to his advantage, alternating between swats to Kurt’s behind and casual caresses of Kurt’s cock. Blaine kept his eyes open as he made love to his husband, glorying at the way Kurt’s skin absorbed the silver moonlight, reflecting it, filling the room with its radiance.

“I think I may have found my new favorite position, my love,” Blaine moaned.

“I am glad,” Kurt said with a sigh. “I think it is mine as well.”

“Really?” Blaine asked, kissing Kurt’s shoulder, needing to have his lips on Kurt’s skin at all times.

“Truly,” Kurt replied, relaxing further against Blaine’s chest. “I think I could just lie here like this all night and be blissfully happy.”

“That sounds like a request,” Blaine teased.

“Maybe it is,” Kurt said, sighing every time Blaine pushed into his body, each tiny breath winding around Blaine’s heart, tightening and tightening, trying to pull the truth from him – the truth of how Blaine had fallen in love with his husband.

“Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are, my love?” Blaine asked, holding Kurt’s waist in the circle of his arms.

“Not nearly as much as you should, my darling,” Kurt smirked.

“You _are_ gorgeous, my love,” Blaine said, gripping his husband’s cock and holding him, letting Kurt fuck himself into his fist, enjoying the way Kurt moved, how Kurt’s ass brushed against his thighs, how his muscles twitched as he pushed them to their limits. “You feel like heaven must, I’m sure.”

Kurt wound his fingers in Blaine’s hair, twirling his curls, tugging them slightly.

“How does that feel for you, my love?” Kurt asked. “Making love to me? Being inside of me?”

Blaine could see the rush of color speed down Kurt’s back and he knew Kurt was blushing, which made his question that much more endearing.

“You feel amazing,” Blaine said, running a hand along Kurt’s shoulder to his neck, kissing around his hairline. “Incredible. Like you fit me perfectly.”

Kurt laughed, but in a thoughtful way.

“It’s not the same with everyone?” he asked bashfully.

“No, my love,” Blaine said. “No, it is not.”

“I never…I never thought,” Kurt stuttered, finding it harder to talk with his husband’s body pushing him towards the summit of pleasure, where nothing else mattered but his body spiraling towards ecstasy, “it would be different.”

“It is…” Blaine said, stammering, caught by the same affliction, “with someone that you…”

Kurt’s entire body tightened and he gasped, turning his head and pulling Blaine’s face to his to kiss him while he came. Blaine’s whole mind shut down with that kiss - the heat of Kurt’s mouth and the quaking of his body obliterating anything that wasn’t Kurt’s mouth, his skin, his scent.

“Mmmm,” Kurt hummed against Blaine’s lips, “holy…heavens…I…”

Blaine’s body surrendered to Kurt’s as Kurt stammered, attempting to form a sentence that expressed how he felt when Blaine knew there were few words that could.

“You know,” Blaine started, pausing to kiss his husband, to lick along the delicate lines of his neck – the ones that made Kurt shiver with a single breath, “we can switch next time.”

“Hmm, what do you mean, my lord?” Kurt asked, craning his neck for more.

“Next time, you can make love to me.”

Kurt turned his head so quickly on his neck to look at his husband that he accidentally knocked his husband’s nose. Blaine snorted and began to laugh, but Kurt looked terrified.

“But, I…I don’t know how,” Kurt said.

Blaine kissed Kurt’s mouth. He loved Kurt’s mouth – pink and perfect, his lips plump from being bitten and kissed, dipping in the center like a bow. Blaine could spend a day kissing Kurt’s lips and never tire of it.

“I would be honored to teach you, my love,” Blaine whispered, feeling Kurt smile.

“Shame we can’t start tonight,” Kurt said with a yawn. “I’m pretty sure I’m already asleep, as is, but I must say, this has been an incredible dream.”

“I’m glad to oblige.” Blaine pulled out of his husband carefully, watching Kurt’s eyes drift closed as he does. Blaine turned to the table by their bedside - positioned with forethought by Kurt, who abhorred walking about the bedroom after they made love. He didn’t like destroying the mood by breaking away from their comfortable, sex mussed bed to deal with the mundane tasks of cleaning up and getting prepared for sleep. Blaine pulled a cloth from the already filled basin of water (another of Kurt’s suggestions), and began to clean his husband. It was a ritual that had become another way of being intimate with Kurt, of showing Kurt how much Blaine cared for him – how much he loved him.

“I’ve been thinking, my lord,” Kurt said, lying out on his back, stretched like a cat in the sun.

“Yes, my love,” Blaine replied, running his hand down Kurt’s chest.

“About the attack on the carriage…” Kurt paused and Blaine stiffened beside him. “I will not discuss it if it bothers you too much, my darling.”

“No, love,” Blaine said, kissing Kurt’s shoulder. “Of course we can talk about it. We should talk about it. It was horrible.”

“I just…I don’t understand,” Kurt said with a yawn.

“What don’t you understand?”

“Well…” Kurt turned onto his back and reached a hand out to touch Blaine’s arm, “you seem determined this was a robbery.”

“Don’t you?” Blaine asked, looking at Kurt’s face while he spoke. His husband looked so tired, Blaine was sure he’d nod off somewhere in the middle of his sentence and not get to finish.

“I…did,” Kurt yawned again, “in the beginning. But…why did they not try to take anything. The carriage was stopped, they had guns, obviously. Why not just rob us then? Why set the carriage on fire?”

“I…I don’t know,” Blaine admitted. He had actually come to the same conclusion a day ago - that robbery was not the motive for the attack on their carriage - he just didn’t want to add his speculations to the mound of concerns piling onto Kurt’s shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I thought it might be Puck,” Blaine said, deciding, however, to test this one theory out on his husband.

“Hmmm, no,” Kurt said decisively.

“No?” Blaine asked.

“Why would Puck attack our carriage with Beth inside?” Kurt deduced. “I could understand wanting you dead, maybe me as well, but Beth…”

“Maybe he did not realize she would be in the carriage along with us,” Blaine reasoned.

“But why risk it?” Kurt asked, releasing Blaine’s hand and running his fingers up and down Blaine’s arm.

“Because, my love, he is a desperate and insane man,” Blaine explained, trying hard to defend his theory. He needed to hate Puck, not sympathize with him.

“Desperate I agree with, but insane…I believe not. He loves Beth, or thinks he does, that is to be sure.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine asked. They hadn’t discussed the ordeal Kurt and Beth had with Puck in the alley. Blaine wanted so badly to put everything behind them.

“Well,” Kurt said, his voice fading as sleep tried to pull him under, “he said he had been looking all over for Beth, and that he loved her. He seemed dead set on taking her with him. He was so close to it, too. It doesn’t make sense…to hurt her…”

Kurt yawned through his sentence, and Blaine knew he would soon be asleep.

Blaine pondered Kurt’s words and he had to admit they made sense. Puck seemed to have gone to great trouble to find Beth, over a lengthy period of time. Kurt said the man called her his daughter and that he loved her. Why risk doing anything then that might hurt her?

Either Puck was extremely disturbed – disturbed beyond the boundaries of rational thinking – or, there was someone else involved. Someone on Puck’s payroll, maybe, who didn’t get the message correct when Puck hired him to dispose of only himself and his husband and recover the girl safely.

Either way, he didn’t like it.

“Sleep now, my love,” Blaine whispered, kissing down Kurt’s beautifully bruised neck. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Do we, my lord?” Kurt muttered, beginning to drift into a gentle slumber. “A big day of what?”

“Of rest,” Blaine said with a kiss to his husband’s temple. “Relaxation. A picnic with you and our darling Beth.”

“Hmm,” was Kurt’s serene reply.

“Yes, my love. And you can ride your new gelding,” Blaine continued, smiling at the murmurs Kurt made in his restful state.

“Lovely,” Kurt mumbled before his breathing evened and his gentle snores took over. Blaine smiled. He reached over and turned out the lamp on the bedside. Blaine laid beside his husband, carding his fingers through Kurt’s hair, watching his eyes shift back and forth as he dreamed. The night was perfectly peaceful - his naked husband’s body warm and inviting, the room silent, moonlight spilling through the window - but none of it helped him relax.

What if the villains who tried to kill them discovered that they weren’t dead? It would be known as soon as word of the attack on their carriage reached the papers. Then might Puck and his gang try to kill them in their home? It was a long shot, but it was not beyond the realm of possibility.

There were many on the estate who could help if Puck found them, but Blaine would feel safer with the addition of one more hired man. This was a matter of extreme importance. It could not wait. 

Blaine slipped from beneath his quilt, attached his prosthetic, and hobbled to his writing desk.

Blaine knew if it came down to it, he would be useless in protecting his husband and daughter. He was pretty good with steel against one sword, but against several villains, he couldn’t be sure.

Blaine knew of a man who could help him - a man he had already trusted his life to once. Blaine only hoped that he could get to the estate in time. 

Blaine pulled a piece of writing paper from the desk drawer and laid it out on the polished desktop. He opened a maple box with a golden catch that contained an inkwell and a writing quill. He penned a quick note, then left it on the desk for the ink to dry. He rang for the butler to fetch his page, Kenneth. When the young boy appeared in the dark doorway, Blaine folded the piece of paper, fixed it shut with a wax seal bearing his signet, and handed it to the boy.

“Keep this safe,” Blaine whispered to the boy. “Don’t show it to anyone but its intended. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded wearily. Blaine grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and shook him hard.

“Listen to me, boy,” Blaine said.  Kenneth’s eyes widened, awakened by his lord’s stern tone. “This is a matter of great urgency. Take this to The Rose and Crown. You will find it down by the waterfront. Deliver it only into the hands of Jonas McMillan.”

Blaine pulled the boy close by his collar and spoke sharply in his ear. 

“Try not to be seen when you leave here, and ride like the wind. Answer no one’s questions...no one’s. If I find out you have not done this exactly as I have asked, I will skin you alive when I next see you.”

Kenneth nodded hard, swallowing anxiously as he tucked the small parchment in his shirt pocket, right above his heart. Blaine took the boy’s hand. Opening his fist palm up, Blaine pressed a few coins in it and closed his fingers around them.

“Use this _only_ for emergencies,” Blaine stressed. “And don’t get into any trouble.”

Blaine’s eyes softened as he looked into the boy’s face. Kenneth, no more than fifteen give or take a year, had joined Blaine’s service after his parents were killed. Though he was a bit of an absentminded boy, he was loyal to a fault and eager to prove himself. Blaine respected that. 

“God be with you, boy,” Blaine said, clapping Kenneth on the shoulder. Kenneth smiled, a look of pride shining from his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Thank you, m’lord,” he said, and with quiet footfalls against the cold wood floor, Kenneth disappeared into the darkness.

 


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N:** _Here we come to the most Harlequin-ie moment of our story - the exciting climax. There are warnings for anxiety, chasing, violence, mention of blood, death of a minor character, death of an animal, and some other minor violent squinky parts. I have done my best to edit the two sections I felt would be the most disturbing to sensitive readers. If you want to avoid the really squinky parts, if you see a bolded word, stop reading and skip to the next bolded word. Also, even though I mentioned at the beginning of the story in the notes that Harlequin romance novels are known to push the boundaries of believability, please note that the sequences written here have been researched by myself with regard to the limits and thresholds of the human body. The three main actions that may cause you to suspend belief are based off of real things that have happened to people I know. So please be assured that everything that happens in this chapter is at least plausible. Thank you and enjoy. :)_

“Here’s the spot,” Blaine said with a grand sweep of his arms. Kurt dismounted his roan gelding and started to help Beth off her own small pony.

“Oh, Blaine. It is glorious!” Kurt swung Beth around in his arms as he took in the entire vista of the meadow. They stood in a patch of green grass and wildflowers flanked by an enormous outcropping of trees. Beyond where they could see but were able to hear was a cliff with a water fall that Blaine promised to show them after lunch.

“My brother and I used to play here as children,” Blaine said. “We spent long afternoons riding our horses and pretending to joust. Knocked me on my rear more than my fair share, I daresay.”

“I can imagine,” Kurt said. “I just wish the weather were more fair.” He stopped his spinning to stare at the ropes of fog closing in around them – not incredibly thick, but enough to block the reach of the sun’s warmth. Beth wiggled free of Kurt’s grasp for only a moment before he grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around to face him, and scooped her up into his arms. He planted a kiss on her forehead before setting her back down and patting her on her backside. She giggled, stuck her tongue out at him, and ran off. Kurt watched as Beth found a patch of sunlight and stood in its golden glow, spinning with her arms outstretched.

Blaine watched his husband, feeling the warmth of Kurt’s smile flow throughout his entire body. He reached for Kurt’s hand and drew him into the circle of his arms.

“Worry not about the weather,” Blaine whispered into the tidy sweep of Kurt’s chestnut hair, “for you are fair enough for all.”

Kurt’s cheeks flushed with color but he laughed as he pressed his lips to Blaine’s in a quick but loving kiss.

“Oh, you are quite charming,” Kurt said with a smile.

Blaine could not believe how much his love for Kurt had blossomed, even more so now that Beth had become their own. Blaine knew that this wasn’t the way Kurt had pictured adopting a child, but it had worked out perfectly for them. Kurt had excelled where Blaine, left on his own, would have floundered. Blaine couldn’t have asked for a better guardian for Beth.

No, it was more than that. The two of them – man and child - were soul mates.

Blaine watched Kurt unpack the picnic lunch they had brought. He could hear Beth’s giggles in the distance, wreaking havoc of one kind or another in the meadow. He felt blessed, contented. He now knew what it was like to have a family to call his own.

He also knew he would fight to the death to keep it.

Blaine struggled with his prosthetic to sit on the blanket Kurt had painstakingly smoothed onto the grass, but after a few attempts at awkwardly manipulating the false limb, he dropped down in a rather undignified manner, which Kurt was polite enough to ignore. Kurt was setting out plates when the neighing of his gelding, Rolly (a name shared by Kurt’s favorite cat growing up), caught his attention. He looked up and around, but could see Beth nowhere.

“Beth? Love?” he called. “Come for supper, please.” 

Beth’s giggling sang in the air, but she was nowhere to be seen. Blaine saw the worry in Kurt’s eyes. He could not help but feel a bit uneasy himself, but he forced himself to push those worries aside. Here they were, nestled in the private sanctuary he had always known, safe and sound on his estate. Nothing could possibly touch them.

“I’ll go fetch her,” Blaine offered, struggling to his feet. The dampness in the air had caused his muscles to stiffen, and the ones that supported the weight of his false limb were protesting more than usual.

“No,” Kurt said, resting an arm on Blaine’s shoulder to stay him. Kurt leapt quickly to his feet. “I’ll go. You rest. I know your muscles are not quite themselves today. Besides, I am going to water Rolly.”

Kurt gathered up the reins of his horse and started after the girl, with Blaine watching as Kurt walked off into the fog. When Kurt was lost to the mist and completely out of Blaine’s sight, Blaine’s uneasiness grew. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up in alarm. He realized that even though his husband and daughter were a fair distance away that he was not alone. Blaine moved to gain his feet, hoping not to attract too much attention as he did so.

Suddenly, they were upon him. From out of the surrounding thicket came two men - dirty and gruesome, with eyes of murder and crooked, evil grins. They came at him, locking his arms in the iron grip of their oversized, grimy hands. Blaine looked up, eyes wide with rage and fear. The larger of the two men felled him with a blow to the midsection that drained all the air from his lungs. Another followed, causing him to collapse to the ground. Gasping for breath on the grass and devoid of breath, his mind swam, shifting between thoughts that were clear, and then unfocused, until he came to a horrifying conclusion.

This wasn’t a random attack. These men weren’t common thieves come to steal his purse. Few knew that Blaine had decided to return to the estate early to hide his husband and daughter. These men did not act alone, and as Blaine was left to writhe in the grass, _he_ was not their primary target. Blaine looked up as a hooded stranger bound full tilt on Blaine’s own stallion into the woods after his family. 

With every last inch of will left in his body, Blaine yelled at the top of his lungs, “Kurt! Run! Take Beth and run NOW!”

 

* * *

 

Kurt could not see the melee. He only heard the whinnying of a horse, and the sound of someone getting a thorough pummeling. He gasped as he realized who must be on the receiving end of that beating, doled out far from the reach of his gaze. He heard his husband utter a low groan, and even before he heard his command, he had hoisted Beth onto his horse and was mounting behind her.

“Kurt! Run!” Blaine bellowed. “Take Beth and run... NOW!”

Kurt kicked poor Rolly mercilessly in the ribs. He swore he would make it up to him with an extra bucket of oats as soon as they returned to the stables...provided they did return. Kurt dashed the thought immediately from his mind. He wrapped a protective arm around Beth, her raven ringlets flying free to taunt his nose. He planted a kiss squarely atop her head, and with it uttered a small prayer. Tears broke from his eyes. He knew not the fate of his husband, but his groans followed them as they reached the safety of the wood. As his moans of pain faded into the distance, Kurt heard hooves – not Rolly’s, but the rhythmic beating of another set of hooves into the soft earth.

The sound was coming from ahead of him.

Kurt yanked hard on the reins. Rolly reared up on his hind legs as their dark pursuer emerged from the trees, a black wool cloak shrouding his features, a sword in his hand. 

Kurt spun the horse around, not able to tell where they were heading, but eager to be well away from the dark phantom that had now crossed his path. He urged the horse onward, not knowing how he would evade the menace close at their heels, but even with the two riders on his back, the roan gelding shot through the forest like a jackrabbit. 

Kurt was in a state of panic. The horse raced on expertly, but still relied on Kurt’s command. Blinded by the fog and in an unfamiliar area, Kurt knew not where the horse was taking him. He heard hoof beats pounding close behind him, but the dark rider never tried to overtake him. Kurt turned around several times to get a glimpse of his pursuer. As far away as he was, Kurt could not make out the man’s face, but he stayed close behind. Kurt felt the ground rise and heard the rush of water as it plummeted off the edge of a cliff. Then he knew with horrible certainty what the rider had planned. He intended to force them to the cliff, cutting off their escape.

Kurt grabbed the reins and tugged, halting the horse in enough time to hear the crumble of a ledge as it gave way to pebbles, spilling down to the rocks below. Kurt watched them fall, momentarily forgetting their attacker, who was drawing up close behind.

Before Kurt could issue another order to his beloved horse, the animal squealed in pain. The horse bucked up as if he meant to toss Kurt and Beth from his back, and then lurched forward off the cliff. Kurt clung to Beth, his mind racing, trying to figure out what to do. Rolly landed on the steep incline, his legs buckling, nearly losing both passengers. Together the three slid down the hill. Rocks flew up and battered Kurt’s face. He threw up an arm to shield his eyes.

“Beth! Beth!” he screamed, but Kurt could hear nothing else over Rolly’s baneful cries. 

Kurt weighed their options. Desperate for self-preservation and realizing in defeat that there was no hope for his friend, he made a plan to leap from the doomed creature’s back. He grabbed Beth tightly around the waist, tugging to release her from her seat on the horse, but his pulls met with resistance. One of Beth’s leather boots had caught between the straps of the bridle and the horse’s neck. Kurt worked at the laces with trembling fingers, finally slipping the boot from Beth’s foot. Without another thought, he leapt from the saddle with all his strength, praying that Beth’s long skirts and petticoat did not get caught and drag them to their death along with the brave horse. 

Kurt and Beth flew through the air. For what seemed an eternity they hovered in the mist while parts of the cliff crumbled beneath them. All too quickly the two fell back to earth. Kurt landed on his back with Beth sprawled on top of him. He swiftly rolled to his side, forming himself tightly into a ball with Beth shielded against him. Kurt felt rocks pummel him as the cliff continued to deteriorate around them. Then, as suddenly as the escapade had started, the falling rocks ceased, and everything went quiet. 

Kurt carefully lifted his head and looked around him. A grey cloud of dust settled, and he coughed as the fine sediment assailed his throat and eyes. Kurt blinked to relieve the stinging, and when he did, the surrounding hillside became clear, as did the body of his horse. Kurt commanded Beth to stay hidden as he approached his beloved horse. Tears started in Kurt’s eyes as he examined the animal’s wounds. The skin on his belly was scraped terribly, a trail of blood leading back the full way up the cliff. Kurt ran a hand down the velvety skin of his muzzle, his eyes shut closed in a look of peaceful repose. Kurt closed his eyes and ran a hand down the gelding’s back, his palm ending on a gash in the horse’s flank. His eyes opened wide, astounded by the deep wound spilling blood. The reason for their tumble down the side of the cliff became blaringly clear. Their dark rider had driven his sword into the poor gelding’s flesh, causing him to leap over the edge. 

That same man was most likely still on the hillside, trying to find them.

Kurt collected Beth in his arms. The girl hid her face in her hands and shook like a leaf, biting her lip to quiet her fearful sobs. Kurt shushed her gently and held her close, pressing their bodies as close to the cliff face as possible, hoping to wait out their attacker. Kurt heard the approach of another horse above them. He stroked Beth’s hair and kissed her on the crown of her head, listening carefully.

The oncoming horse stopped at the cliff’s edge, sending a spray of dirt and pebbles down Kurt and Beth’s way. Beth startled at the sound, and Kurt held her tighter. He didn’t want to frighten the child, but a single sniffle could mean the difference between life and death.

“You arse!” Kurt heard Puck’s voice hiss. “You could ‘ave killed ‘em both! If you need to take yer revenge, fine, but do it when my daughter’s not in tha way!”

“I don’t give a shit about your brat!” a gruff voice scolded. “Lord Anderson loves her, too, and I mean to deprive him of everything he loves!”

Kurt heard Puck dismount his horse, and the telltale singing of metal when a sword unsheathes.

“I ‘ired you to ‘elp me get my daughter back, not to kill ‘er!” Puck growled.

“Yeah, well, the plan has changed,” that gruff voice – a voice that filled Kurt with odd feelings of déjà vu – answered.

Kurt heard the clang of metal meeting metal again and again, but then the crack of a firearm split the air. Puck groaned, long and low, his moan of pain turning guttural and raspy.

Kurt hid Beth’s face quickly and just in time as Puck’s body fell over the edge.

The last thing Kurt saw of the scoundrel as he flew past them were his wide, stunned eyes, which fell on the two runaways huddled together in each other’s arms before their hazel depths went lifeless.

Kurt waited, his breath held, his entire body on alert. He heard the footsteps of the killer above them. His heart stopped when more pebbles rolled down their way. Kurt bit his tongue nearly in two when all he wanted to do was scream for Blaine – Blaine, who might be dead in the grass back at their picnic, their last vestige of safety a myth if this murderer could still find them here.

Kurt was on the brink of doing something desperate when he heard the man yell a harsh, “H’yah!” and heard the sound of horse’s hooves race away.

Kurt waited only long enough for the sound to dwindle into echoes before he gathered Beth into his arms and started to run down the hill. He ran blindly, but sure that he was headed away from the dark rider. Pebbles slipped from beneath his feet, and he almost lost his footing on the steep hill. Small bits of twigs and brush jutted up from the dusty earth, trying to entangle his legs. Faster and faster he raced, trying not to trip and dive headlong down the embankment. 

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know if he was running away from one threat just to collide headfirst with another. The rushing water, the rising clouds of dirt, the stinging from dust in his eyes, all muddied his senses. He felt panic rise within him as he realized he wouldn’t sense danger even if it was within four feet of him.

But no matter what, he had to keep Beth safe.

A hard grip on his shoulder halted him in his precarious tracks and spun him around. Kurt blinked to get a good look at his pursuer, but something unforgiving impacted with his jaw, almost knocking him to the ground and jostling Beth loose from his arms. A fabulous burst of pain shot through his jaw into his brain, sending sparks of white light into his eyes, obscuring his vision. His attacker gave Kurt’s arm a hard tug that almost sent him and Beth sprawling back down the hill. Kurt’s vision cleared. He stumbled a few paces, and when he came to a halt, he found himself staring over the edge of a ledge. To Kurt’s immediate right he could see the end of a meandering river rushing to meet the falls that cascaded over the rocks. At the foot of the hill he saw (to his relief) his husband, limping and badly beaten, being drug about by two burly men. They lifted Blaine’s drooping head by a fistful of his hair to look up at Kurt. Blaine’s swollen, bleary eyes widened immediately when he saw Kurt hugging Beth tightly to his chest, a thin stream of blood issuing from his lip where he had been punched, Kurt’s suit and Beth’s dress torn beyond repair.

Kurt felt a hand wrap firmly around his neck. He suppressed a tiny gasp, trying not to give in to the immense terror rising to cripple him. He had to stay strong for those he loved. He stood with his head high, his arms trembling as much from anger as from fear.

Beth clung to Kurt’s coat, her sobs drowned out by the thick material.

Kurt still hadn’t seen his attacker, but Blaine had, and his own facial expression was an incomprehensible mask of horror and confusion. Blaine’s split lips worked around words that Kurt couldn’t hear, but then Blaine shook the brute’s hand from his hair and roared into the air.

“Matthew!”

“Blaine,” Matthew called smugly over Kurt’s shoulder to the men below. “My immense lordship.”  Matthew bobbed a mocking bow. “It seems that you are at quite the impasse.”

“What do you want, Matthew?” Blaine’s weak, broken growl barely reached them over the sound of the water.

“What do I want?” Matthew laughed. “What do you have to give me, brother?”

Blaine tried to stand, but the brigands on both sides kept him heeled.

“I don’t understand,” Blaine returned, his brow furrowed. “How dare you call me brother? I had a brother.” Blaine’s eyes narrowed as he tried to put pieces of this confounding puzzle together in a mind that refused to work right, knocked senseless by several blows to the head. “I thought it was Puck who had killed him, but I suspect it was your hand that did it.”

“Noah never had the guts to spill blood,” Matthew laughed, tightening his hold on Kurt’s neck, “unless he was beating up little girls who couldn’t fight back.” Matthew shook Kurt and Beth whimpered, but Kurt held her fast, his arms locked, unwilling to let her go. “No, he didn’t have the balls to kill our brother.”

“Stop calling me _brother_! I didn’t even know your name until a few years ago when I hired you. You coward! You are nothing to me! Nothing!” Blaine yelled, receiving a hook to the jaw for his outburst.

“Oh, but I am your brother,” Matthew continued his tirade. He made a thoughtful face and bobbed his head back and forth. “Half-blood, but still a brother.” 

Blaine shook his head slowly, not able to comprehend this man’s claim. As far as Blaine was concerned, their relationship was one of ink on paper.

“My God, man!” Matthew stormed, his fury at Blaine’s thick-headedness causing him to tighten his grip on Kurt’s neck till he could barely breathe. “Did you even remember the _business_ that your father claimed to have in France so long ago? He was gone for months at a time, around the time that you were born…before even! He never left! That _business_ was my mother _and_ me! And when he was done with her, he shut her up on a run-down old estate and never returned – that worthless old house on that dead piece of land…” Matthew’s hand shook, nearly toppling Kurt and Beth over the side. “He banished us from all respectable society! Barely gave us a living, and made me a bastard!”

The look on Blaine’s face was one of revulsion, but Kurt could not tell to whom it was directed. Kurt knew Blaine did not think the best of his father. But still - adultery? A bastard son? Blaine’s sinking heart showed on his face, much to Matthew’s delight.

“That’s right, _brother_ ,” Matthew persisted. “Your father took my mother the way he took everything. Then he discarded us. He wouldn’t accept me as his own. It broke my mother’s heart till she died. _Died alone_!”

Blaine shook his head in disbelief. It was too much information for him to devour, especially with his husband and child in mortal danger. He raised his head again, with a fire blazing in his eyes.

“And what do you want of me, _brother_?” Blaine asked, his teeth clenched to contain his mounting fury for the sake of his family.

“I want all that you have,” Matthew replied. “I cannot have our father’s love, but it seems that you didn’t have it much, either, so I can at least sympathize with you there.” Matthew smirked at his own joke. “On the other hand, I can take his land, and his title.”

“But you cannot,” Kurt spoke finally, finding his nerve. “There are several before you, even if you succeed in killing us.”

“Yes, you are right. And they, too, can join you in death,” Matthew slurred in Kurt’s ear. “You know, you only have yourself to blame for this. If you had just slunk away and left him like I was trying to get you to do, like the whiny bitch you are, you wouldn’t be here right now, about to die.” His breath against Kurt’s neck caused him to shiver, and Matthew’s mouth twisted into a devious grin. Kurt swallowed audibly, fighting against the fingers that wrapped like vines around his slender neck. 

“Your husband shivers at the feel of my lips against his neck, _brother_ ,” Matthew teased. “Maybe I will only dispatch the girl, and keep your young husband for myself.”

Blaine roared as he tried to wrench free of his captors, but Kurt froze, the thought of being touched by Matthew - touched in the intimate ways that his husband had introduced him to - scared him more than the idea of his own death. He pulled Beth close and raised his eyes to the sky, silently pleading to whomever might be there looking over them for a way out.

Kurt’s mother had always said that there was a separate God for children. If that was true, Kurt prayed that he would see Beth rescued.

“Do you have nothing to say to me?” Matthew growled at Kurt, furious by his lack of reaction to Matthew’s threats. “Are you not going to beg me to free you? Beg me to spare your wretched husband’s miserable life?” 

Matthew spun Kurt about to face him and slapped him hard across the cheek. Kurt could hear his husband’s desperate howl. Suddenly, Kurt felt the hillside crumble. The ground beneath his feet shifted, and then gave way. In an instant, he was careening down the hillside, still clutching Beth. With all his strength, Kurt rolled to his back. He raised one arm, digging his nails into the ground, trying to stop. He heard the sound of men’s voices in the distance - Matthew and Blaine both shouting oaths, and the two villains who held his husband’s arms berating and mocking him.

 **Kurt felt** his nails start to lift slowly from his fingers and break one by one. He heard a small crack, and a shot of white-hot pain screamed down his arm causing him to cry out. His hand felt numb, and he knew he had broken a finger, but which he could not tell. Still he drove his fingers deeper into the dirt, trying to find purchase, but to no avail. His legs stung as sharp rocks and twigs ripped through his hose, tearing at his skin. 

 **As the** slope in the ground leveled, Kurt and Beth slid to a stop, leaving Kurt’s feet to dangle over the edge. Kurt lay paralyzed, not daring to move an inch as he felt the chill breeze pass up his pant leg. Heedless of the ruckus erupting around them, Kurt and Beth did not move. The yelling voices had gone quiet since the only sound Kurt heard was his own heart thudding in his chest. 

Kurt could no longer feel the last two fingers of his right hand and he knew without a doubt they were broken. He took a risk and sat up slowly, but he saw no one - no one behind him, no one below them in the meadow. In fact, from over the ledge, Kurt could not see the steep slope of the hill. With the unbroken but weak fingers of his right hand, Kurt reached around him for anything that might help them back up the hill the way they came. Kurt’s hand came in contact with a brittle rope of root snaking down the hillside. He grabbed hold of it as best he could and gave it a swift tug to be sure it was sturdy. Kurt turned carefully to his knees. He looked into Beth’s eyes, red and swollen from crying.

“Now listen to me well,” Kurt said as calmly and as evenly as he could. “I want you to wrap your arms around me, and no matter what happens, hold on tight.”

Beth continued to stare at Kurt, her fists drawn up to her mouth in a child’s need for security, but she did not budge. She was staring at the swelling of Kurt’s right hand. Kurt caught her gaze, keeping her eyes focused away from his injured hand.

“I swear to you, you will be safe, my love,” Kurt spoke softly. “Now please, do as I say. You wouldn’t want Lord Anderson to see you frightened, would you?”

Beth shook her head slowly. Without a word (Kurt was sure she could not manage one if she tried) Beth wrapped her small arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“Good girl,” Kurt cooed as he started to rise to his feet. Slowly and with calculated footsteps, he started up the hill. He paused momentarily between each step to secure his footing in the dirt before continuing further, counting in his head as a way to ignore the constant burn of pain in his arm. Kurt smiled weakly as the crest of the ledge grew closer. From the meadow below, Kurt thought he heard a muffled noise, but he could not turn his head – his neck stiff from being throttled. The muttering grew louder until it broke free and bellowed after him, stopping Kurt in his tracks. 

“Kurt!” Blaine screamed. “Kurt, look out!”

Kurt looked up and saw Matthew’s grim face.

“Better watch your step,” he said in a flat, menacing voice. A second later, Kurt’s eyes were full of dry sediment, as Matthew had scraped up a handful and tossed it, hitting Kurt square in the face. Kurt stumbled, tugging the root hard to keep his balance, and the gnarled thing gave way. Kurt fell to his tailbone, sliding backward down the incline until he and Beth lay on the ledge where they began.

“Bloody hell!” Kurt screamed in spite of himself, wishing he could better control his tongue in front of Beth. He felt more sediment rain down on him and realized that Matthew had started down the hill toward them. Kurt blinked hard, but the moisture that formed in his eyes only succeeded in further obscuring his vision. 

Kurt wanted to think clearly, to come up with a calculated plan of escape, maybe even a way to incapacitate Matthew in the process, but his brain could only come up with one idea, over and over, till it rang out loudly in his ears.

“Hold on, Beth!” Kurt called to her, and he pulled on the root with all his might. He couldn’t make himself jump, no matter how hard he tried, so he leaned back far till he lost his balance and let gravity take over, sending them toppled over the ledge. With his arm wrapped around the root, the pair dropped, then came to a sudden stop when the root stalled. They hung above another ledge that led into a cave gutted out of the rock.

Kurt swung himself toward the ledge, waiting until he could almost touch the rock with the tips of his shoes, then let go. They landed on the slick stone, the waterfall pounding the rocks to their right. He had no clue how they would get down from here, but they seemed alright for the time being, at least for a few minutes until Kurt hatched another _brilliant_ plan.

He tried not to be too hard on himself. He was doing the best he could. There was too much to think about, too much to worry about, and Kurt was exhausted. His arm throbbed. All he wanted to do was fall asleep and forget about the pain, but he fought the need to lie down, to let his knees buckle so that he could rest at last.

“Are we…are we safe?” Beth asked, her words partially drowned out by the water.

Kurt shook his head, and brought a single finger to his lips, silently commanding the child not to speak. Kurt crept to the cave opening and carefully peeked around. He saw the face of his husband, ghastly and unnaturally pale, staring up at him. Still held by his captors, Blaine was screaming up at him, and though he could not hear his words, he saw them form on his lips.

“LOOK OUT!”

Kurt looked up the way they had come and saw a flash of steel. Kurt threw up his hands to shield his face. Blood-stained metal sliced through the sleeve of his coat and into his flesh. Kurt batted his hands, trying to ward off the bite of the weapon. He reached up, managing to grab Matthew’s ruffled sleeve, and pulled, dragging the man from his ledge and dropping him to a ledge below.

There was no time for planning. No time to give in to fear. No time to think or consider or second guess. Matthew had a weapon and he wasn’t wounded. If he made his way up to the ledge, Kurt and Beth were goners. And Matthew – sadistic, diabolical Matthew – wasn’t looking just to kill them. He was looking to make them suffer – to make Blaine suffer while he tortured the ones he loved, toying with them like a cat plays with mice.

The only person who could stop him had barely any energy left.

Out of sheer desperation, Kurt grabbed Beth again and made for the ledge. Gripping the girl in his arms, the rose scent of her curls giving him courage, he ran to the ledge...

...and jumped.

Kurt and Beth cut through the cool air and landed feet first into the freezing water. It soaked Kurt’s suit and felt like ice cutting into his skin. He kicked out his legs, frantically fighting to keep his head above water. He couldn’t feel his arms. He prayed that Beth had not let go and was not flailing helplessly somewhere under the water.

Guided surely by luck alone, his fingers found the grassy bank. He pulled himself onto the wet sod, feeling his arms scream in pain as his broken fingers fought with the others to dig into the ground. He scrambled onto the grass and felt the weight of Beth’s body slide off him. Kurt saw her face, her skin red from the frigid water, her hair plastered to her cheeks. Ignoring the pain screaming from every nerve ending, he threw his arms around the girl, thankful to be alive.

But apparently the powers that control the sun, earth, and sky had decided that Kurt and Beth had not suffered enough. Vengeance is a powerful force - one that cannot be denied - and because of it, a new pain blossomed in Kurt’s body. It was incredible, mind-numbing, and it took control of his nerves and muscles. He felt his hands fall from Beth’s shoulders when he would have held on to her forever. He craned his neck around to look behind him – the pain in his neck ruled out entirely by the one to the left of his right shoulder. There it was - a long Mother-of-Pearl inlayed handle of a dagger, sticking out from his back. He would have appreciated the beauty and artistry put into making the weapon if it wasn’t imbedded in his back. Kurt tried to touch it, but it was a bit out of reach.

The world as Kurt knew it tilted left and right. He turned a bit farther to see that Matthew no longer hung from his ledge on the rock. He had jumped when Kurt did and was negotiating the rapids. Resting on a mound of granite that had emerged through the rippling waves of the river, he had seen Kurt’s exposed back and took his shot.

Kurt took a moment to be properly appalled at the extent to which this man wished him dead.

Even though most of his body stayed numb from the water, Kurt felt the sharp sting between his shoulder blades as surely as he saw a spatter of crimson drops stain the blanket of grass at his knees. He felt his body slump forward, but he struggled to catch himself before he fell headfirst onto the ground. He raised two shaking fingers to his lips, pressing them to the corner of his mouth to collect some of the moisture that had gathered there. He brought the fingers to his eyes, confirming what he had already feared. 

The blood was his.

All around him grew silent. A haze formed before his eyes like a bewitching fog crossing the river to cover them all. He felt a gentle tugging on his coat. Kurt lifted his heavy head and saw Beth. The girl looked like an angel.

‘Maybe we are both dead,’ Kurt thought, ‘and Beth has come to take me home.’ But the look of terror in her eyes spoke otherwise. If they were truly in heaven, she would have nothing to fear. 

‘Ah well,’ Kurt rationalized. ‘Maybe we are in hell. Angels exist in hell.’ He fought the urge to laugh, the dagger in his back making any sudden movement agonizing.

Though nose-to-nose with Beth, the girl’s voice could not seem to travel the distance to Kurt’s ears. He could scarcely make out the words forming on her quivering lips.

“Please, Kurt,” she was pleading. “Please, get up.”

“I am sorry,” he said, barely even breathing, though breathing seemed irrelevant as peace had already begun to overtake him. He no longer wanted to fight. His body was filled with effervescent warmth, and he felt as though he could simply melt into the earth. 

“Run, Beth,” he implored the child. “Run away from here.”

“I will not leave you,” Beth cried. “I will not leave you, papa.”       

A smile formed on Kurt’s drawn face. He felt joyful tears pressing at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, Beth…” he wept, “I could not have asked for a better daughter than you.” With Beth’s words ringing in his ears, Kurt could die happy. He only had want for the reassurance of his husband... 

Time seemed to slow, even as the urgency of the situation started to bore into his brain. 

“Run,” he repeated, whispering to Beth as he felt soothing hands pulling him to the ground. “Run and save yourself.”

“No,” Beth sobbed as she pulled at Kurt’s shoulders, her hands balled into fists as her fingers dug into his coat, the skin on her knuckles stretched white.

“Run,” Kurt persisted. He turned his head to look around him, trying to catch a glimpse of Blaine. He spied him across the riverbank, flanked by the two beastly men, each gripping his arms, keeping him from running to Kurt’s aid. He saw the first whisper something to Blaine that made his face blanch, and he struggled to get free. A fist to his stomach made him lurch forward. The men laughed. One grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright so that Blaine continued to look at Kurt...probably so that he could witness the inevitable.

And even at this moment of peace, Kurt knew that _he_ was coming.

Blaine said nothing, made no motion to him, but his eyes spoke scores. Kurt could see Blaine apologizing, enraged, pleading...but pleading for what? Still gazing into Blaine’s golden eyes, Kurt remembered the last time he had gazed so deeply into Blaine’s amazing eyes...what Blaine had said to him. 

It was in the early morning hours, before the sun kissed the horizon with its sacred light. Kurt had had a nightmare – a dream of a fire that he could not fight, a fire that took the lives of everyone dear to him, with him watching on, helpless to save even one. They were lying together in their huge four-poster bed, Kurt finding tremendous comfort in Blaine’s embrace.

“I don’t know how to be brave,” Kurt had confessed to him. “Not like my mother. Not like you.”

Blaine had drawn him close, nuzzled his neck, breathing in the scent of Kurt’s hair.

“There is no trick to bravery,” Blaine replied. “Some of the world’s bravest deeds have not been performed by knights or soldiers, but by ordinary people.”

Kurt’s innocent look of confusion had made Blaine chuckle. He kissed Kurt’s furrowed brow, and held Kurt tighter to him.

“Sometimes the very act of rising to greet the day requires more courage in some than is required to fell an entire army. And you, my love...” Blaine cupped Kurt’s chin with the crook of his finger to gaze deeper into his enticing sea-colored eyes, “are one of the bravest people I know.” Blaine had lowered his lips to Kurt’s and took his mouth in a kiss that nearly stopped Kurt’s heart. The memory of it, even now, filled him with a tingle like the electricity that builds in the air before a storm.

“But, if you think yourself a coward,” Blaine had mocked when he released Kurt, leaving him breathless, “I will teach you to be brave.”

Then Blaine had made love to Kurt - softly, slowly, with a burning passion Kurt had never experienced. It was not the polite act of a married couple performing their wedded duties, but a device of true, unadulterated devotion.

The words Blaine formed on his lips as he looked at Kurt confirmed the feeling he held deep inside.

“I love you,” Blaine said. Then he said it again and again, so that Kurt could remember it from here to the next world, if that was where he was headed.

Kurt heard the words of the lanky holding onto his beloved Blaine.

“Lord Matthew will ‘ave yer stringy husband till he dies,” the awful man drawled, “and then he’ll kill that lit’le bastard girl.”

The last of his words snapped Kurt back to reality. Kurt probably would not survive the rape, if that truly was Matthew’s intent, but his precious Beth - she _would_ die. Matthew would knife the child until she bled a river, and her small, lifeless body would no doubt join his in a shallow, unmarked grave.

And his husband loved him. Truly loved him. Kurt could not die; he would not allow it. He had to do something.

Kurt heard the spilling of the river as it raced over the jagged rocks at the bank. Interspersed with that lapping sound, Kurt heard Matthew fighting the rapids, slowly reaching them from where they had leapt into the water. Kurt felt his mind once again begin to cloud, but he fought. He fought through the comforting haze into the grizzly light and the mist of rain. He felt Beth’s arms hugging his shoulders, her heavy sobs reverberating against his back.

“Not yet,” Kurt whispered to himself as he struggled to regain his feet. “I’m not going anywhere yet.”

Kurt fixed his gaze on his husband’s face. A glimmer of light, the ember of hope, began to shine in Blaine’s eyes. His breath quickened. He leaned forward, ready to pounce - wanting to save his husband.

“Get up,” Blaine was saying. The man to his left brought the flat of his foot down on the back of Blaine’s leg. Blaine crumbled in the man’s grasp, but his eyes never left Kurt’s face.

“Get up!” he yelled louder. “Get up!” 

Kurt stumbled as he rose. He caught his balance and looked at Beth, whose eyes were wide with awe. Then he locked his eyes back on his husband, urging himself to draw off of Blaine’s strength – Blaine’s incredible strength under almost insurmountable odds, as Kurt pictured him at every moment during his life.

Kurt’s jaw firmly set with the determination to live - at least long enough to see his daughter safe - he stood upright, only minutely bowed by the blade in his back. Even the men who bound his husband’s arms looked amazed that he rose. He felt the sting of his wounds grow and spread down the length of his back and his arms. The pain was enough to immobilize him, but Kurt refused to give in. If he hit the ground, it would be the last time, and he knew it. 

Kurt felt a twitching at the hem of his pants. Then a cold hand locked onto his ankle and nearly pulled him down. Kurt spun around. He pushed Beth behind him and out of harm’s way. Kurt looked down to see Matthew emerging from the icy water. He had tossed his gun ahead of him onto the grass, but he wasn’t trying to pull himself out. He was trying to pull Kurt in.

Kurt’s ears were bombarded by a sea of nondescript noises and voices. He heard the chuckling of the men across the river. He heard Beth’s soft sobs. He heard his husband calling his name. He scanned the ground and saw a branch – long and thin, bare of bark and white like bone, with a pointed tip - lying on the bank within his reach.

Kurt stooped for it, the pain in his limbs indescribable. His muscles felt torn to shreds, and as he reached for the length of wood with his right hand, he despaired to discover he could barely get his fingers to respond. He shut his eyes tight, tight against the pain, tight against the thought of being raped, his daughter disemboweled, and his husband beaten to death. With a growl from within the depths of his soul, he wrapped his fingers around the limb and lifted it. 

Kurt swung it ferociously, wailing over Matthew’s back. He heard Matthew’s grunts as he tried to wave the branch away, but Kurt didn’t stop. When he could not lift the branch any more, he began to jab Matthew in the face, stabbing him with all the strength he had left. 

“I...have...had,” Kurt said as he thrust the branch at him, “just...as much...as I...can take...from you!”  Finally Kurt‘s weapon found its mark, **and** the tip of the branch, sharp as any sword, plunged through Matthew’s eye.

 **Matthew** reeled backward, his mouth open in a silent scream as he let go of his grip on the bank, plunging down the rapids, rolled beneath the waves and out of sight.

All around looked at Kurt. Kurt shivered from head to toe with cold, with pain, with anger. Before he considered the move, he bent and retrieved the pistol. He pointed it at the two beasts who held his husband captive. His hand shook, and he didn’t know how long it would take before his arm gave out on him. Besides, the gun was an idle threat since Kurt wasn’t convinced he could shoot competently enough to hurt the two men and not hit Blaine in the process. He only hoped the men didn’t call his bluff.

“Release him,” Kurt said calmly, keeping Beth hidden behind him. 

“M’lord,” the larger of the two men mocked, “I daresay you would no be hittin’ us if you fire that gun.”

“I said release him!” Kurt repeated, trying to appear undaunted by the man’s words, feeling his time grow short, what was left of his life slipping away as the haze reappeared in his vision.

“That gun wouldna fire anyways,” the second said with a cruel, taunting laugh. “The powder’s wet.”

“But this one is stone dry.” A dangerous, low voice came from behind the three. Sebastian pressed the barrel of a pistol against the chin of the larger man, making the man’s eyes blow wide. Before the smaller man could turn on him, Jonas reached out his beefy fist and struck him on the jaw, sending him to the ground.

Kurt watched the rescue, and relief pushed the pain from his body. Seeing his husband safe, knowing his work was done, Kurt dropped the pistol and fell to the earth.

Blaine broke from the men’s arms, adrenaline coursing through him. As the fight ensued, he plunged into the river, limping as the water pulled on his false limb and tried to carry him away. He fought the rapids and won, even though the stinging water ran red with his own blood. 

Blaine reached his husband and put his arms around him, careful not to touch the dagger sticking out of his back. He rolled Kurt’s head up to look at him, but his eyes stared blankly up. Blaine saw only a faint spark of life left. 

“Kurt!” Blaine cried, putting a hand to his ice cold cheek. “Kurt, do not do this! Talk to me!” Kurt blinked his eyes once and only once, the slight shadow of a smile fading from his lips.

“No!” Blaine screamed. He stood, his useless fake leg sinking into the dirt as he struggled to lift his husband into his arms. Jonas came up behind Blaine, the earl clumsily holding Kurt’s limp body in his embrace, a grieving Beth sobbing loudly behind him.

“Let me ‘ave his lordship, m’lord,” Jonas said, gently trying to relieve Blaine of his husband's body.

“No!” Blaine snapped. 

“Beggin’ yur pardon, m’lord,” Jonas said, speaking soothingly, and with manners Blaine never knew the man possessed. Jonas rounded in front of Blaine to block his path. “We brung a carriage. Let me take ‘im to it.”

Blaine looked up into the man’s deep set eyes, then at Sebastian holding the other two ruffians at pistol point. Blaine felt on the verge of collapse. He swallowed and nodded.

“Take him,” Blaine said, fit to choke on his own tears. “I must see to my daughter.”

Jonas scooped Kurt’s body into his massive arms and directed the earl to an awaiting carriage.

Blaine tried to keep his mind blank, tried to not think the worst, and in his thoughts, he urged Kurt to fight, but he had felt Kurt’s cold skin. He had seen the light dwindle in Kurt’s eyes.

He had not the least bit of hope.

 


	23. Chapter 22

Blaine tolerated the doctor fussing over him, but he refused the intolerable man’s inane order of bed rest. Bed rest was the absolute last thing that Blaine needed. His place was here, by Kurt’s side.

Blaine paced the interior of his bedchamber as the elderly doctor leaned over Kurt’s lifeless-looking body, the shoe on the foot of his false limb _thump thump thumping_ in a constant heavy cadence on the wood floor, causing the doctor to look up at the obdurate earl and frown. The doctor’s wrinkled hands moved with a speed and care that impressed Blaine. It should have given him confidence. Still, the doctor’s diagnosis was not coming quick enough for him, and Blaine took that to be a bad sign.         

Beth, her few scratches washed and bandaged but otherwise unchanged, curled her thin body onto a chair by the window and fell asleep. Blaine gazed down at the child. He envied her ability to sleep. He wished for himself the same peace that allowed her to rest during such a dire time. He knew her exhaustion was but a means of escape from the horrors she had witnessed that day. He would never forgive himself for this. Never. He had promised her protection, and here she nearly got killed. Once again, it was Kurt who saved the day. Kurt who came to her rescue. Blaine needed to find a way to make things right for her – make her feel safe once again.

Blaine might long for sleep, but he could not allow it...could not allow himself to give in to the self-pity that threatened to consume him.

After too many long minutes, the doctor turned to face him. Behind him, Kurt laid on the large four-poster bed...the same bed that he and Blaine had made love in together, sweat pearling on their skin as they took from each other again and again. Kurt was fierce and powerful like a summer storm; Blaine felt so secure in his arms. Now, he looked small, weak, his usually flushed and warm skin ashen and cold. His shallow breaths barely had strength enough to lift the blankets that covered his body. But worst of all were the scars - deep and heavy scarlet tracks that marred his usually unblemished porcelain skin.

The doctor looked into Blaine’s hopeful face and shook his head.

“How is he?” Blaine persisted, needing to hear the words before he could believe.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know, Lord Anderson,” the doctor replied solemnly. “Luckily the dagger lodged into his shoulder and did not hit anything vital. He will lose some use of his arm because of it. I set the broken bones and stitched up the wounds.”

Blaine peered past the doctor to gaze upon the still countenance of his husband, trying to discern for himself if he drew breath. The doctor stepped in front of him, catching his gaze.

“He has lost a great deal of blood, my lord. Even the transfusion will not be enough to fully recover him.”

“Then what will?” Blaine asked through firmly set teeth to keep his body from shaking.

“We can set him up with another transfusion when we are certain the first one took, but it’s up to him now,” the doctor replied, taking one last glance back at his patient. “If he has it in him to live, then he will. If he makes it through the night, then he should survive, but there is nothing more here that I can do.” 

Blaine’s face twisted in anger, but not at the elderly doctor, or his husband. He was mad at himself for failing at this marriage, for not appreciating the time he had with Kurt, for not seeing Matthew for who he truly was, for being too absorbed in himself to see all the love that surrounded him.

“Then direct me to someone who can do more.” Blaine spoke plainly so as not to reveal his growing anxiety.

The doctor sighed. He looked around, then pointed past Blaine to the far side of the room.

“Maybe _he_ can be of some assistance, my lord,” the doctor said.

Blaine turned quickly, hoping to stare into the face of some savior - some other doctor of greater faculty - but he saw only an oval looking glass...and his own reflection. His face flushed red.

“What the...”

The doctor’s hand on Blaine’s shoulder stayed his anger. 

“Talk to him, my lord,” the doctor said. “If you want him back, tell him so.”

With a gentle pat, the stooped old physician picked up his medical bag, walked past Blaine and out of the bedchamber, leaving Blaine alone with his sleeping daughter and his unconscious husband.

For several minutes after the doctor left the room, Blaine stood in the same spot, seething at his own reflection in the mirror. It was such a joke that he might be able to help. What could he do? His father was right – he was useless. He couldn’t handle life – not when things went bad, not when it really mattered. He wasn’t meant to be earl. That was meant to be his brother’s mantle – always had been.

Cooper should be at the manor, with Quinn as his wife, enjoying his beautiful daughter.

 _Blaine_ should have died in that fire – not Cooper.

Blaine had accepted years ago that his leg was done, gone, and that he would bear the pain of the loss of it for the rest of his life.

But for all of his physical weakness, for the agony that he felt and the things he could not do, he had never once before felt infirm until that day.

Until he looked into the terrified eyes of his husband and child and knew he could do nothing to save them.

Kurt had told him that losing a leg did not make him any less of a man, but he was wrong.

A man protects his family, and when the time came for him to do that, Blaine was helpless.

His husband could have died on that hillside, and Blaine couldn’t lift a finger to save him.

Blaine found a chair and pulled it up to Kurt’s bedside. He sat bowed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, fidgeting in his seat, letting the mixture of pain, helplessness, and foolishness all settle uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He took Kurt’s hand in his, and he stilled. The anguish and the shame slipped away at the touch of Kurt’s fingers, as if his husband’s unconscious body had given him absolution for all of his sins. Blaine lightly traced his finger over the splint that bound the last two of Kurt’s fingers. He felt the slips of wood holding Kurt’s fingers together and something within him broke. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he felt his entire body tremble...and he began to weep.

Tears fell from his eyes – unwanted and unbidden – rolling down his cheeks and wetting Kurt’s hand. He couldn’t stop them, couldn’t control them. Sorrow wrung the tears from his body until he could hardly breathe. Blaine didn’t have the luxury of a breakdown. Beth could wake any minute, and she would need him to be strong.

Besides, crying like this felt like giving up, and he couldn’t do that. He had to believe, for himself as well as his daughter, that there was some way for Kurt to pull through.

 _Talk to him_ , the doctor had said. _If you want him back, tell him so_.

Blaine tried, but he couldn’t find his voice for a long time.

The sun moved across the sky, filtering in through the bedchamber window, changing Blaine’s view. Shadows lengthened, the light turned gold, then pink, and soon began to fade – and it angered Blaine. How dare the world continue on? How dare the sun set and rise when his reason for living was so close to death?

Marley came in around dinner time to collect Beth, who could barely keep her eyes open. The girl whimpered and moaned to be left with her papa, but Marley convinced her that a bath and a bowl of broth in her tummy would make Kurt feel better.

It was a brilliant lie, Blaine thought, and well played, since Beth didn’t seem to notice the tears in Marley’s voice that expressed the truth – Kurt might not have much time left. But if he were awake, he would command Marley to get Beth bathed, fed, and into bed, so that’s what Marley did.

For her master.

Marley shut the door behind her and Blaine was finally alone with his husband.

“Kurt?” Blaine said. The name wouldn’t come out all at once. It stuttered and wavered, and was swallowed by grief. “Kurt?” Blaine said louder. He had so many things to say and not much time to say them. He had to make sure Kurt would hear him.

“Oh, my love,” he said, raising Kurt’s hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, making sure to avoid the swollen ones. “I am sorry. I am so sorry about all of this. I should have done more to protect you. I should have…I should have found a way.” Blaine stopped…and he waited. He hoped that Kurt would open his eyes and tell him it was okay, that he was forgiven, but it wasn’t enough. Blaine sniffed and brought Kurt’s hand to his face, caressing it against his cheek. Blaine winced. Kurt’s skin felt impossibly cold. Blaine had never felt such a cold. It pierced the skin. A human hand should not feel so cold.

“Sebastian knew something was wrong when my stallion returned to the stable without me,” Blaine explained, deciding to start with idle conversation while he gathered his thoughts. “I had summoned Jonas the night before, and he had just arrived when the horse came back. Then they heard a gunshot and came looking for us.” Blaine cleared his throat. “It’s a…it’s a good thing they did or else…”

Kurt did not stir and Blaine sighed.

“It was true…” Blaine said, deciding to indulge a moment to remove his own burdens, “what Matthew said about my father cheating on my mother, about taking up with his mother and locking them up in that estate – the one that was vandalized, the one I wished to sell. I talked to my steward, and…it was true. My father had been unfaithful – to all of us - for years. Living with two families…having two sons he did not approve of, apparently…”

Another pause, another moment to see if Kurt would return met with silence.

“I talked to John…my steward…about the whole sordid affair, and asked him how come he did not tell us. He said he was sworn to secrecy by my father and signed a contract promising his confidence, even after my father’s death. He did not think things would go this far.”

Blaine swallowed, his eyes moving from Kurt’s fingers, up his arms, to his eyes – peaceful and calm and unmoving behind his eyelids…because Kurt wasn’t dreaming. Blaine’s arms shook. He could feel the time slipping around him.

“I love you, Kurt,” Blaine admitted softly. “I should have told you sooner, I should have told you the second I knew. And I don’t mean in the last few months…” Blaine kissed Kurt’s hand again, needing to kiss him, needing Kurt to feel his lips on his skin. “Remember the time you first learned to ride a horse?” Blaine began, hoping that the story would spark something within Kurt’s sleeping brain. “You must have been about eleven then. Do you remember, my love?”

Blaine looked hopefully into his husband’s calm face. He did not move, did not turn to face him, did not open his eyes.

“You were utterly fearless, I remember,” Blaine continued. “My father’s stable master put you on that Godforsaken beast of his, and the horrible creature bucked you off. You fell to the stones, skinning both knees. I thought you were going to cry, but you didn’t. You reached for the stallion. You got back on the horse, and it threw you again. Eight times that foul beast tossed you that day.”

Another kiss to the fingers. Another silent non-response.

“I wanted to teach you, but it turned out that you didn’t need anyone’s help. You got on another horse the next day, and you taught yourself. You were so wonderfully independent. I wanted to put you atop my own stallion. His name was Talon. Do you remember him?” Blaine sighed at the memory. “But I remember thinking how wonderful you were, even then. I told Cooper I thought I could fall in love with you, but he laughed at me. He said I’d never be able to tame you. I never mentioned it to anyone ever again, not even you.” 

Kurt made no move, not even a sniff of recognition.

“But I loved you, Kurt,” Blaine said, straightening the wrinkles in the blanket covering Kurt’s body, needing an occupation for his body or he would surely go mad. “I loved you then, and I never stopped. I never stopped.” Blaine his body long to cry again, and he cursed himself in his head. “So many times I wished I could stop loving you, because I thought I would never have you. But then I found a way, didn’t I? And how did I treat you?”

Blaine bit his lip to stop his tongue, deciding not to drudge up that old shame.

“Please, wake up,” Blaine pleaded. “We’ll start over, Kurt. A big beautiful wedding with everything you dreamed of. Flowers of every color, a suit imported from Paris, every person we know for miles around will attend. Anything you want, my love, I will give to you. Just…just wake up…”

Kurt was so still, and in this low light, it was hard to tell if he was breathing.

Blaine’s head dropped, his hope ebbing away, his soul overcome with sorrow.

“You cannot leave me, Kurt,” he said defiantly, commanding though his voice shook. “You can’t. I don’t know what to do without you - with Beth, with everything. You make me feel alive, Kurt. You make this life I’m living sufferable. Being with you, Kurt…it’s like a dream, and if you leave me, I’ll have to wake up, and I can’t. I can’t…”

Blaine’s words dissolved into sobs. He buried his face against Kurt’s stomach.

The sun outside set and night took over, but without a sliver of moon. The room was dark. Everyone who passed the bedchamber walked silently, and the servants, immersed in their own wells of despair, prepared to take out the black curtains for the mirrors and windows.

Marley, instead of Kurt or Blaine, read to Beth for the first time.

Everyone prepared for bed, and the whole house held its breath.

Blaine, resting his head on Kurt’s body, listened to the thready heartbeat in his husband’s chest until the faint whisper of noise put him to sleep.

If any night had ever felt like it lasted for an eternity, it was this one, while Anderson Manor and everyone in her waited for what the morning would bring.

Blaine awoke several times during the night. He woke to the sound of a dog howling outside. He woke when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but when he opened his eyes, no one was there. He woke to nightmares about fire and knives and blood – so much blood, and not a drop of it his own. He woke to a nightmare of standing in the rain, holding his daughter’s hand, watching the servants lower his husband’s body into the ground.

He woke when he heard little Beth scream for her papa, and Marley’s voice singing to her that lullaby of Kurt’s – the one in French that his mother sang to him.

Coming on to colder seasons, the sun rose late the following morning, and it was still dark when the world outside Blaine’s window began to wake.

It was quiet in the dark, but Blaine was not alone.

Kurt’s breath stuttered, and tears streaked down his face. 

Blaine awoke when his head bounced up with the movement of Kurt’s chest.

“Kurt?” Blaine whispered, standing and hovering over his husband’s face. “Kurt? Are you…”

Kurt’s eyelids fluttered open. Unfocused blue eyes fell on Blaine’s face, tracing over the deep lines of worry, the bruises and the scars. Kurt tried to smile for his husband, but something, maybe laudanum, made his face feel heavy.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked again.

Kurt moved his lips. He tried to speak, but his whole body felt pressed upon by a great weight.

“It’s okay,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand and kissing it tenderly. “How do you feel?”

Kurt frowned and Blaine laughed.

“Everything is alright now, my love,” Blaine said. “You’re going to be alright.”

Kurt nodded. He tugged on Blaine’s hand, summoning him closer. Blaine leaned over Kurt’s face, pecking barely there kisses on Kurt’s swollen jaw. Kurt’s lips moved, with nothing but a breathy sound coming out.

“What is it, my love?” Blaine asked, leaning in closer, putting his ear almost directly on to Kurt’s lips to capture the sound.

Kurt’s words were few, but they were the only words that Blaine needed to hear.

“I…love…you…”

“I love you, too,” Blaine said, resting his cheek against Kurt’s as a hundred emotions fought within him – relief, fear, shame, joy, so many needing to be felt and expressed that it nearly broke Blaine apart. “Stay with me, Kurt,” Blaine whispered. “Do not leave me here alone.”

Kurt shook his head, managing a weak smile. His uninjured hand he brought up and rested on Blaine’s shoulder in the same way the phantom hand had touched him in the middle of the night, and whispered to Blaine a single word.

“Never.”

 


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, this is something I have changed up from the traditional Harlequin romance. At the end of a Harlequin story, everything goes back to normal, and love conquers all, and nobody seems adversely affected by whatever experience they've had. But that's not life. A traumatizing experience leaves scars. So, this is a warning for mention of stress, anxiety, and PTSD. It doesn't overwhelm our ending, but it's there all the same.

“Beth!” Kurt called, walking through the field of wisteria to find his strong-willed, raven-haired wild child. “Beth Fabray Anderson, where have you run off to?”

“Here, papa!” an airy voice answered. A tiny heart-shaped face, like the face of a fairy, appeared from the mass of purple-hued flowers. Kurt, his injured arm stiff as the weather turned chill and his entire side radiating with a dull pain that branched down from his back, carefully negotiated the hill that the little girl bounded up and down with nary a care. She leapt through the flowers until they littered her hair with barely an inch of her dark curls to be seen. Kurt watched her with a smile on his face, the sight of her happy again worth all of the pain that this walk into the field had afforded. In his grip, he carried a leather satchel, which kept him from keeping his balance on the uneven ground..

“Let me help you, papa.” Beth reached out her thin arm to Kurt, and Kurt graciously took it, though what she thought she could do if Kurt slid and fell was beyond him. As rough and tumble as she behaved, even in her full skirts and her sturdy leather boots, he always believed that a stiff breeze would most likely carry her away.

Kurt giggled at the thought of little Beth, floating through the air, laughing at the wind and daring the world to catch her. Beth stuck her tongue out at Kurt’s laughing, and Kurt stuck his tongue back. Yes, she was the epitome of a country savage, but she was also playful and smart, and would someday grow into a fine young woman.

Like her mother was, and even though he had never had the honor of meeting the woman, to that, Kurt was certain.

Beth’s overwhelming resemblance to Blaine was still uncanny, but Kurt never paid it any mind.

Beth’s eyes caught sight of the leather satchel and her lips quirked up into a delighted smile.

“More flowers, papa?” the spritely child chirped, usurping the bag as soon as Kurt got his footing.

“Of course,” Blaine grumbled, making his way up the same hillside without a tiny imp offering to help him along. “We apparently cannot have a proper wedding without a house full of wisteria blossoms.”

Kurt rolled his eyes at his sour husband, reaching down a hand to help pull the man up.

“Second wedding,” Kurt corrected, wobbling a step in his attempt not to tumble headlong down the hill the way they had come.

He had had a lifetime of falling down hills.

“The wedding you should have had,” Blaine said with a hint of shame in his rough voice. Kurt looked kindly upon his husband’s face, noting all the new lines that had cropped up in the short time they had known one another. It didn’t matter to Kurt. Every new line was the sign of a smile Blaine had given him, or a laugh they had shared, and Kurt cherished them all. Beth popped up, wondering what was keeping her papa, but hid beneath an umbrella of branches when she saw Blaine beside him. Blaine saw a glimpse of the girl and his lips curled slightly. “And this time, my husband will have a proper flower girl…if only we can find one.”

He turned to look left and right, conspicuously looking above the hiding girl’s head. She giggled, trying her best to muffle the sound behind her hand, but lost her composure and burst into a fit of laughter when Blaine looked right at her and pretended not to see her. Then suddenly he lunged at her, grabbing her and tickling her mercilessly. She struggled and wiggled to be free of him, which surprisingly did little to dislodge the flowers stuck in her hair.

“Look here, husband,” Blaine called through his own laughter. “When I said ‘flower girl’, I didn’t necessarily mean a girl made entirely of flowers.”

“Daddy!” she squealed.

“But I guess this one will do,” Blaine finished, stumbling and then falling into the grass. He collapsed onto his back in a tired heap, and Beth climbed triumphantly on top of him, raining petals down onto his clothes.

“Here, Beth, darling,” Kurt intervened, handing her the satchel she had dropped, “take pity on your poor father and go gather up the flowers, will you?”

“Yes, papa,” she chirped, grabbing the bag and running off down the hill.

“Fill it completely,” Kurt called after her, dropping down beside his husband in the grass.

“Yes, papa,” she called back, already a distance away.

“Come this way, Miss Beth.” Kurt heard Sebastian’s voice summoning the child. “I’ll show you where I planted the most beautiful of the wisteria blooms.”

“I am much obliged, kind sir,” Beth’s voice answered. Kurt smirked at her uncharacteristically shy and coquettish behavior.

“Well, it seems that those etiquette lessons you have been giving her are paying off,” Blaine commented from his prone position in the soft earth. “She is becoming quite the charming young lady.”

“She is a precocious little flirt,” Kurt said, looking off to the distance. “I hope she is not too heartbroken when Sebastian’s boyfriend, Hunter, moves onto the estate.” Kurt turned to Blaine, leaning over him to whisper into his husband’s ear. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

“What?” Blaine asked, looking Kurt sternly in the eye. “I needed a competent smith, what with the way the horses around here keep slipping their shoes.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt said, laying his head on his husband’s chest, letting him hide his generosity behind one little white lie.

“Speaking of,” Kurt said, “I cannot wait to be well enough to ride my new gelding.”

“Yes, it is a gorgeous creature,” Blaine replied. “Sebastian certainly has an eye for horse flesh. Why, he’s almost as gorgeous as…”

Blaine clenched his jaw, keeping himself from any mention of Kurt’s poor horse, Rolly. Tiny slip-ups like these were common in their conversations – innocuous little mentions of things that triggered horrible memories when fully explored. Many of their discussions cut off suddenly and without explanation. For anyone not living in the Anderson household, it might seem odd. But for Kurt and Blaine, it was simply another day.

“So, my love,” Blaine said, diverting the conversation away from the subject of horses, “what will be your favorite part of our wedding, hmm? The flowers? Your family traveling in from the city? The incredible clothes you designed for the wedding party? The amazing cake that Mr. Crawford is making?”

Blaine said the last part with only the slightest mark of disdain, which Kurt could not begrudge him. But Kurt was ever so pleased when Blaine commissioned Adam for the baking, seeing as they had an amazing chef on the estate already.

This was Blaine’s way of saying thank you to the man for saving his husband and daughter.

Blaine raised a hand to Kurt’s back and ran his fingers down the line of his husband’s spine over his finely tailored coat, careful to avoid the spot on Kurt’s shoulder that made him hiss with pain.

“I have to admit the flowers are lovely,” Kurt said, finding Blaine’s unoccupied hand and threading their fingers together. “And I can’t wait to see my father and Rachel, seeing as we missed them on our trip to London.” Kurt felt giddy at the thought of his sister coming to the country manor to attend his wedding. He missed her so. Poor miserable Rachel, afflicted with the all-day sickness that sometimes befalls a woman with child, traveling all the way to the country to witness Kurt’s nuptials. Regardless of how much he missed his dear sister, Kurt had begged her to stay in the city, but it was Rachel who had insisted that she come.

She said that she would not miss seeing her beloved brother happy for all the world.

Blaine had arranged for his finest carriage to fetch her.

“But I think my favorite part,” Kurt started, creeping up his husband’s body to look him in the eyes, “will be when we tuck our daughter into bed early, the celebrants have drunk themselves silly, and you and I can retire to our room to celebrate on our own.”

“Really, husband?” Blaine said, feigning a look of surprise that did nothing to hide the wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Do you approve of that idea?” Kurt asked, slyly slipping a hand down between his husband’s legs to find the proof of Blaine’s passion and lust for him, even now when Kurt was a little bit broken and still healing, plagued at night with dreams that forced him awake, crying in fear. Especially now while they were both learning how to heal together without pushing each other away.

When they finally realized just how much they meant to one another.

Hence the second wedding, and this beautiful field of wisteria that Blaine had planted at an enormous but worthwhile expense, as a get well gift for his beloved husband.

“I very much approve,” Blaine said suggestively. Kurt lowered his face to Blaine’s, and Blaine inclined his head so that he could feel his husband’s mouth fully on his.

“Ugh!” Beth mocked a gag as she spied the two men atop the hillside of wisteria, locked in each other’s loving embrace. “Do they always have to do that?”

Kurt smiled into his husband’s kiss but Blaine frowned at the intrusion. Kurt turned his head to see Sebastian bounding up the hill, galloping like a horse with Beth on his shoulders, her hand threaded into his hair, holding on tight.

“You will have to excuse them, milady,” Sebastian said, grinning at the couple sprawled undignified on the ground. “They are in love.”

“Kissing is disgusting,” Beth returned.

“Well, young miss, there may come a day when you might not mind it so much.” Sebastian lifted Beth off his shoulders and pretended he would drop her, then caught her inches from the ground. She looked up at the young man and blushed deep to the roots of her dark curls.

Kurt shot Blaine a knowing look, and Blaine rolled his eyes.

“Alright, you two,” Blaine said, struggling to get up. Kurt sprang to his feet as best as he could and offered his husband a hand. “Shouldn’t we be returning to the manor for lunch?”

“Oh, I wish I had thought to bring it with us,” Kurt commented, looking back across the meadow at the manor house looming in the distance. “It is such a lovely day – too lovely to be stuck indoors.”

“I have my palomino grazing not far from here, milord,” Sebastian said with a bow to Kurt, looking up at the young lord in a way that still raised Blaine’s hackles a bit, but needlessly so. “I can run back to the house and have the cook pack the basket for you. It will take but a moment.”

“Would you please?” Kurt asked.

“Of course, milord.” Sebastian bowed again, and winked at Beth, who ducked her face to hide the red in her cheeks.

Sebastian took off at a run down the hill, and Kurt’s eyes followed after him.

“You needn’t admire him so much, husband,” Blaine said bitterly, but with a teasing tone.

“It is not him that I admire,” Kurt said with a sigh, “but his ability to run without pain.” Kurt shook his head, and when he looked back at his husband, the man’s face was sullen, his hazel eyes full of regret and sorrow.

Kurt smacked his husband lightly on the arm.

“Now, we’ll have none of that, my lord,” Kurt said. “It is simply a twinge that I suffer, and it will go away in time. Even the doctor says so.”

“I know,” Blaine said, but the sadness would not fade from his voice.

Kurt looped an arm around Blaine’s waist and held him tight.

“You are going to need to stop villainizing yourself, my love,” Kurt whispered. “Nothing that happened is your fault.”

“So you say,” Blaine replied, leaning his head against Kurt’s shoulder.

“So I _know_ ,” Kurt said. Kurt felt Blaine shift uneasily, and he put a hand to Blaine’s shoulders. “How are the new straps treating you, my lord?” Kurt asked, checking out his handiwork through Blaine’s clothes. While Kurt had been forced to stay in bed till the majority of his wounds healed, he convinced Blaine to let him have a go at fixing his prosthetic, which turned into having a new limb made and a harness affixed – one that went up over Blaine’s shoulders to take the pressure of balancing all his weight off his hips.

“They are fine, my love,” Blaine said, leaning his head back to offer his husband a smile. “Perfect. I don’t know what I did before I had you.”

“You wallowed around in pain and misery needlessly, my love,” Kurt said, placing a gentle kiss on his husband’s lips.

“Hmm,” Blaine hummed, “I agree.”

Kurt felt a tug on his coat, and looked down to see Beth hanging off his tails.

“Papa?” she asked in a soft voice, a voice so reminiscent to the one she had with her when she first met Kurt so long ago in London.

“Yes, Beth, darling?” Kurt asked.

“Could you tell me a story while we wait?” She sat down on the grass, pulling her skirts under her, and patting a place for Kurt to sit.

“Of course, my little love.” Kurt settled back down onto the grass, asking Blaine with wide pleading eyes to join them, which he did, sliding down to a sitting position beside Beth and pulling the child into his lap, legs spread wide to accommodate his prosthetic. “What story would you like to hear?”

“You know what story, papa,” Beth said, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in the heel of her hand. Indeed, Kurt did know what story, since she had asked him to read it to her so often that he had set it to memory.

It was the story of a little orphaned girl, who went from door to door in London selling eggs from out a basket. She stumbled upon a lonely old man who eventually adopted her, and they became the best of friends for the remainder of their days.

Kurt had asked her once if she liked the tale so much because it reminded her of her own story, to which she determinedly said no, since Kurt could never, ever be old, and she did not like eggs.

Kurt scooted closer to the two – the man who stole his heart, and the little girl who gave him hers so willingly. And hidden in the cool comfort of the never-ending wisteria, Kurt told them a story about fate and love, about people who need one another finding each other, and, in the end, living happily ever after.

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Alternate Part of Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22 - where Kurt is unconscious and Blaine is seated at his bedside - was originally supposed to be written from Kurt's POV, but I decided to make it from Blaine's POV, and put the fear in the audience that Blaine had, that Kurt would not survive. So this would have fit in right before Blaine's speech about how he loved Kurt (which is also written as part of this).

The haze returned to Kurt’s sight, though he did not feel he had opened his eyes. He tried to walk, but could not discern the ground beneath his bare feet. He could see ahead, but not much, his way obscured by the thick fog.

‘But not fog,’ he realized. ‘Clouds.’ Immense white clouds that parted where he touched, and beyond them, the soft glow of a living light – a light with presence, with sentience, a light that breathed. Kurt tried to make his way to it, for it called to him with the promise of safety, happiness…and love. He inched closer at a snail’s pace, and when he was almost upon it, he began to hear humming - a familiar tune he could not entirely grasp. It struck him at the heart and reminded him of home – a home long gone, though he still had the ability to recall it.

He squinted into the light, his heart lifting as the music surrounded him and took hold. His speculation on its origin was almost too fantastic for him to truly believe, but so was walking through the clouds; he decided to throw caution to the wind and trust in it.

Then the humming turned into song, and the voice that sang filled him with joy. He felt like a child again, just a young boy, full of hope and promise, not skewered in the back and lying cold in the grass. He longed to call out to it by name, though it made him feel foolish, but he feared his time here in this sparkling utopia was growing short, and before he crossed over to wherever he was meant to go, he needed to know.

“Mama?” Kurt spoke as he peered deeper into the light, in the direction from where the sweet music emanated. “Mama, is that you?”

In the distance, a shadow formed, moving toward him. The closer it came, the more human it looked. When the shadow was upon him, it became a woman, who stepped from beyond the veil. Her face was impossible to see, but Kurt didn’t need to see it. He would know this woman anywhere. Her eyes, her mouth, her nose, her smile, were all imprinted upon his heart.

“Yes, my darling,” the woman spoke as she slipped through the clouds, a long flowing robe of pure golden light surrounding her.

“Mama!” Kurt cried, falling to his mother’s feet, his eyes welling with tears of sorrow and joy. “Mama! I thought I would never see you again.”

“I have never left you, my love,” his mother, Elizabeth, said. She took Kurt by the arms and helped him to his feet. Kurt put his arms around his mother, not wanting to release her for fear that this she was only a vision, naught but a feverish dream.

“Am I…am I dead?” Kurt uttered.

“No, my love,” Elizabeth replied, drawing Kurt out of her arms to look into his pale face. “Not yet.”

Kurt swallowed hard, his heart broken at the certainty in his mother’s voice.

“W-will I die?” he stuttered.

“That’s up to you.” Kurt’s mother smiled sympathetically. “Your body is not yet ready to die. But your mind and your heart have all but given up.”

Kurt sighed, looking down at the clouds surrounding his bare feet. Kurt’s mother crooked a slender finger beneath his chin, lifting her son’s face to meet her gaze.

“What’s wrong, my love? Why are you so hesitant to return to your wonderful life?”

“I’m in love, mama,” Kurt confessed, weeping as though the revelation of his feelings was a sudden and unexpected surprise. “Thoroughly and completely in love.”

Elizabeth laughed at her son’s exuberance.

“And why does that pain you? Do you believe that your husband does not reciprocate?”

Kurt raised a hand to wipe the moisture from his eyes.

“Marriage to me was not his first choice,” Kurt confessed shamefully. “He married me out of duty.”

“Has he ever told you he loved you, my darling?” his mother pressed.

“He did,” Kurt said, a small smile parting his lips. “As I lay dying, he did tell me. So many times I thought he might say it, but he didn’t, and now…” Kurt shook his head. This was something he shouldn’t question. His heart knew the truth, better than his head. But here in the presence of his mother, at the crossroads of deciding between staying and going, he felt so unsure.

Kurt’s mother put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

“Kurt, my dear, men don’t often know what they want until they finally get it...or lose it. Do not lose all that _you_ have.”

“My husband,” Kurt said with a sigh – a blissful, dream-filled sigh.

“And?” his mother urged.

Kurt smiled.

“My daughter,” Kurt finished.

“Yes,” his mother cooed. “A beautiful little girl with her mother’s strength, your determination, and who shares your husband’s fierce love for you.”

Kurt’s mother turned her son to look at her one last time.

“Dearest, I haven’t long left with you. You must now decide. Return to your husband and your life, or come with me.”

Kurt’s eyes filled with tears, both at the thought of leaving his husband and his mother.

“How do I decide?” Kurt asked. “It should be easy, yet I do not know what choice to make.”

“Try listening to the words his heart tells you,” Kurt’s mother said, pointing past Kurt into the distance. With gentle hands on her son‘s shoulders, she turned him to face the light. A barrier in his vision parted and immediately Kurt stood in his room, beside his own bed, looking down into his own scarred face. Blaine sat in a chair by his side, gripping tightly to his hand as though he could hold Kurt’s life in his grasp. With his other hand, Blaine stroked Kurt’s hair. He let a finger trail down the length of one jagged scar. As he reached the winding wound’s end, his hand began to tremble, and a tear broke free from his troubled, hazel eyes.

“I love you, Kurt,” Blaine admitted softly. “I should have told you sooner, I should have told you the second I knew. And I don’t mean in the last few months…” Blaine kissed Kurt’s hand again, needing to kiss him, needing Kurt to feel his lips on his skin. “Remember the time you first learned to ride a horse?” Blaine began, hoping that the story would spark something within Kurt’s sleeping brain. “You must have been about eleven then. Do you remember, my love?”

Blaine looked hopefully into his husband’s calm face. He did not move, did not turn to face him, did not open his eyes.

“You were utterly fearless, I remember,” Blaine continued. “My father’s stable master put you on that Godforsaken beast of his, and the horrible creature bucked you off. You fell to the stones, skinning both knees. I thought you were going to cry, but you didn’t. You reached for the stallion. You got back on the horse, and it threw you again. Eight times that foul beast tossed you that day.”

Another kiss to the fingers. Another silent non-response.

“I wanted to teach you, but it turned out that you didn’t need anyone’s help. You got on another horse the next day, and you taught yourself. You were so wonderfully independent. I wanted to put you atop my own stallion. His name was Talon. Do you remember him?” Blaine sighed at the memory. “But I remember thinking how wonderful you were, even then. I told Cooper I thought I could fall in love with you, but he laughed at me. He said I’d never be able to tame you. I never mentioned it to anyone ever again, not even you.” 

Kurt made no move, not even a sniff of recognition.

“But I loved you, Kurt,” Blaine said, straightening the wrinkles in the blanket covering Kurt’s body, needing an occupation for his body or he would surely go mad. “I loved you then, and I never stopped. I never stopped.” Blaine his body long to cry again, and he cursed himself in his head. “So many times I wished I could stop loving you, because I thought I would never have you. But then I found a way, didn’t I? And how did I treat you?”

Blaine bit his lip to stop his tongue, deciding not to drudge up that old shame.

“Please, wake up,” Blaine pleaded. “We’ll start over, Kurt. A big beautiful wedding with everything you dreamed of. Flowers of every color, a suit imported from Paris, every person we know for miles around will attend. Anything you want, my love, I will give to you. Just…just wake up…”

Kurt was so still, and in this low light, it was hard to tell if he was breathing.

Blaine’s head dropped, his hope ebbing away, his soul overcome with sorrow.

“You cannot leave me, Kurt,” he said defiantly, commanding though his voice shook. “You can’t. I don’t know what to do without you - with Beth, with everything. You make me feel alive, Kurt. You make this life I’m living sufferable. Being with you, Kurt…it’s like a dream, and if you leave me, I’ll have to wake up, and I can’t. I can’t…”

Kurt felt his throat choked with tears. There should never have been any question which decision he should make. There was only one place for Kurt now.

 _“Go to him,”_ Kurt’s mother whispered behind him. _“Go home to your husband.”_

Tears streaked down Kurt’s face.

And Blaine saw them.

 


End file.
